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THE  WORKS 


THOMAS  DE   QUINCEY. 


POPULAR  EDITION. 


VOLUME  VII. 


ESSAYS  IN  ANCIENT  HISTORY 
AND  ANTIQUITIES. 


THOMAS  DE  QUINCEY. 


BSF^K^i^ 

i 

mJ^^^Bm^ 

BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK  : 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1851,  by 

TiCKNOR   AND    FIELDS,  ^ 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts 


Copyright,  1876, 
By  HURD  and  HOUGHTON. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 
Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Company. 


Colleg* 
LSbnxj, 

PUBLISHERS'  ADVERTISEMENT. 


The  present  edition  is  a  reissue  of  the  Works  of 
Thomas  De  Quincey.  The  series  is  based  upon  the 
American  Edition  of  De  Quincey's  Works,  pub- 
lished originally  in  twenty-two  volumes.  After 
that  edition  was  issued,  a  complete  English  edition 
was  .published  in  Edinburgh  and  was  edited  and 
revised  in  part  by  the  author.  This  edition  con- 
tained changes  and  additions,  and  the  opportunity 
has  been  taken,  in  reissuing  the  American  edition, 
to  incorporate  the  new  material  which  appeared 
in  the  English  edition.  At  the  same  time,  the 
arrangement  of  the  several  productions  is  more 
systematic  and  orderly  than  was  possible  when  the 
collection  was  first  made,  at  different  intervals, 
under  difficulties  which  render  the  work  of  the 
first  editor  especially  praiseworthy.  In  the  final 
volume,  an  introduction  to  the  series  sets  forth  the 
plan  carried  out  in  this  new  arrangement,  and  that 
volume  also  contains  a  very  full  index  to  the  entire 
series.  Throughout  the  series,  the  notes  of  the 
editor  are  distinguished  from  those  of  the  author 
by  being  inclosed  in  brackets  [  ]. 


seyoiG 


PROM  THE  AUTHOR,  TO  THE  AMERICAN  EDITOR 
OP  HIS  WORKS.  * 

These  papers  I  am  anxious  to  put  into  the  hands  of  your 
house,  and,  so  far  as  regards  the  U.  S.,  of  your  house  exclu- 
sively ;  not  with  any  view  to  further  emolument,  but  as  an 
acknowledgment  of  the  services  which  ^-ou  have  already  ren- 
dered me :  namely,  first,  in  having  brought  together  so  widely 
scattered  a  collection,  —  a  difficulty  which  in  my  own  hands 
by  too  painful  an  experience  I  had  found  from  nervous  de- 
pression to  be  absolutely  insurmountable ;  secondly,  in  hav- 
ing made  me  a  participator  in  the  pecuniary  profits  of  the 
American  edition,  without  solicitation  or  the  shadow  of  any 
expectation  on  my  part,  without  any  legal  claim  that  I  could 
plead,  or  equitable  warrant  in  established  usage,  solely  and 
merely  upon  your  own  spontaneous  motion.  Some  of  thesfe 
new  papers,  I  hope,  will  not  be  without  their  value  in  the 
eyes  of  those  who  have  taken  an  interest  in  the  original 
series.  But  at  all  events,  good  or  bad,  they  are  now  ten- 
dered to  the  appropriation  of  your  individual  house,  the 
Messrs.  Ticknor  and  Fields,  according  to  the  amplest 
extent  of  any  power  to  make  such  a  transfer  that  I  may  be 
found  to  possess  by  law  or  custom  in  America. 

I  wish  this  transfer  were  likely  to  be  of  more  value.     But 
the  veriest  trifle,  interpreted  by  the  spirit  in  which  I  offer  it, 
may  express  my  sense  of  the  liberality  manifested  thi'oughout 
this  transaction  by  yoiu*  honorable  house. 
Ever  beUeve  me,  my  dear  sir, 

Your  faithful  and  obliged, 

THOMAS  DE  QUINCEY. 

*  The  stereotype  plates  of  De  Quincej-'s  Works  and  the  right  of 
publication  have  passed,  by  direct  succession,  from  Ticknok  and 
Fields  to  Houghton,  Mifflin  and  Company. 


PEEFAOE. 


[The  following  are  brief  general  notes  with  w^cb 
Mr.  De  Quincey  introduced  "  The  Caesars,"  and  Plato's 
*^  Republic "  when  revising  the  latest  edition  of  hia 
works.] 

*•  The  C-a:sARS,"  it  may  be  right  to  mention,  was 
written  in  a  situation  which  denied  me  the  use  of 
books;  so  that  with  the  exception  of  a  few  penciled 
extracts  in  a  pocket-book  from  the  Augustan  history,  I ' 
was  obliged  to  depend  upon  my  memory  for  materials, 
in  so  far  as  respected  facts.  These  materials  for  the 
Western  Empire  are  not  more  scanty  than  meagre  ;  an<? 
in  that  proportion  so  much  the  greater  is  the  tempta 
tion  which  they  offer  to  free  and  skeptical  speculation 
To  this  temptation  I  have  yielded  interraittingly ;  but 
from  a  fear  (perhaps  a  cowardly  fear)  of  being  classed 
as  a  dealer  in  licentious  paradox,  I  checked  myself 
exactly  where  the  largest  license  might  have  been 
properly  allowed  to  a  bold  spirit  of  incredulity.  In 
particular,  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  believe,  nor  ought 
therefore  to  have  assumed  the  tone  of  a  believer,  in  the 
inhuman  atrocities  charged  upon  the  earlier  Caesars. 
Guided  by  my  own  instincts  of  truth  and  probability,  I 
should,  for  instance,  have  summarily  exploded  the 
most  revolting  among   the  crimes   imputed   to  Nero. 


d  PREFACB. 

But  too  often,  writers  who  have  been  compelled  to 
deal  in  ghastly  horrors  form  a  taste  for  such  scenes ; 
and  sometimes,  as  may  be  seen  exemplified  in  those 
who  record  the  French  "  Reign  of  Terror,"  become 
angrily  credulous,  and  impatient  of  the  slightest  hesita- 
tion in  going  along  with  the  maniacal  excesses  recorded. 
Apparently  Suetonius  suffered  from  that  morbid  appe- 
tite. Else  would  he  have  countenanced  the  hyperboli 
cal  extravagances  current  about  the  murder  of  Agrip- 
pina  ?  What  motive  had  Nero  for  murdering  his 
mother  ?  or,  assuming  the  slightest  motive,  what  diffi- 
culty in  accomplishing  this  murder  by  secret  agencies  ? 
What  need  for  the  elaborate  contrivance  (as  in  some 
costly  pantomime)  of  self-dissolving  ships  ?  But  waiv- 
ing all  this  superfluity  of  useless  mechanism,  which  by 
requiring  many  hands  in  working  it  must  have  multi- 
plied the  accomplices  in  the  crime,  and  have  published 
his  intentions  to  all  Rome,  how  do  these  statements 
tally  with  the  instant  resort  of  the  lady  herself,  upon 
reaching  land,  to  the  affectionate  sympathy  of  her  son  ? 
Upon  this  sympathy  she  counted  :  but  how,  if  all  Rome 
knew  that,  like  a  hunted  hare,  she  was  then  running  on 
the  traces  of  her  last  double  before  receiving  her  death- 
blow ?  Such  a  crime,  so  causeless  as  regarded  provo- 
cation, so  objectless  as  regarded  purpose,  and  so  revolt- 
ing to  the  primal  impulses  of  nature,  would,  unless 
popularly  viewed  as  the  crime  of  a  maniac,  have  alien- 
ated from  Nero  even  his  poor  simple  nurse,  and  other 
dependants,  who  showed  for  many  years  after  his 
death  the  strength  of  their  attachment  by  adorning  hia 
grave  with  flowers,  and  by  inflicting  such  vindictive  in 
«ult8  as  they  could  upon  the  corpse  of  his  antagonist^ 
Galba. 


PREFACK.  lil 

Meantime  that  he  might  be  insane,  and  entitled  to 
'.he  excuse  of  insanity,  is  possible.  If  not,  what  a 
monstrous  part  in  the  drama  is  played  by  the  Roman 
people,  who,  after  this  alleged  crime,  and  believing  it, 
yet  sat  with  tranquillity  to  hear  his  musical  perform- 
ances !  But  a  taint  of  insanity  certainly  did  prevail 
m  the  blood  of  the  earlier  Caesars,  i.  e.,  down  to  Nero. 

Over  and  above  this  taint  of  physical  insanity,  we 
should  do  well  to  allow  for  the  preternatural  tendency 
towards  moral  insanity  generated  and  nursed  by  the 
anomalous  situation  of  the  Tmperator  —  a  situation  un- 
known before  or  since ;  in  which  situation  the  license 
allowed  to  the  individual,  after  the  popular  coynitia  had 
virtually  become  extinct,  hid  too  often  from  his  eye 
this  perilous  fact,  that  in  one  solitary  direction,  viz., 
in  regard  to  the  representative  functions  which  he  dis- 
charged as  embodying  the  Roman  majesty,  he,  the 
supreme  of  men  upon  earth,  had  a  narrower  license  or 
discretionary  power  of  action  than  any  slave  upoa 
whose  neck  he  trode.  Better  for  him,  for  his  own  com- 
fort in  living,  and  for  his  chance  of  quiet  in  dying,  that 
he  should  violate  the  moral  sense  by  every  act  of 
bloody  violence  or  of  brutal  appetite,  than  that  he 
should  trifle  with  the  heraldic  sanctity  of  his  Impera- 
torial  robe. 

The  readers  of  Plato,  if  such  a  class  anywhere  ex- 
ists, must  be  aware  of  his  profound  failure  in  an  at- 
tempt to  explore  the  etymology  of  a  few  Grecian 
words.  Such  a  failure,  considering  the  etymologioJ 
►■esources  then  at  the  command  of  Greek  philology,  wjm 
•uevitable.     It  is  no  subject  for  blame.     But  not  tb*" 


V  PREFACE.. 

less  it  suggests,  as  its  own  direct  consequence,  what  it 
B,  subject  for  the  heaviest,  viz.,  the  obstinate  vassalage 
to  purely  verbal  fancies,  which  is  continually  a  fruitful 
lource  of  erring  and  misleading  speculation  to  Plato. 
In  the  last  book  of  "  The  Republic  "  we  have  a  lively 
instance  of  this.  Plato  there  argues  two  separate  ques- 
tions :  first,  the  Immortality  of  the  Soul  (more  elabo- 
rately treated  in  the  "  Phaedo  ")  ;  secondly,  the  grounds 
upon  which  he  expelled  the  Poets,  and  Homer  beyond 
all  others,  from  his  immaculate  Commonwealth.  Oi 
this  ideal  Commonwealth  it  is  sufficient  to  say,  that  the 
one  capital  vice  which  has  ruined  Asia,  and  laid  her 
(speaking  generally)  a  contemptible  and  helpless  victim 
at  the  feet  of  Christendom,  viz.,  polygamy  and  sexual 
effeminacy,  carried  to  the  last  conceivable  excesses,  is 
by  Plato  laid  down  deliberately  as  the  basis  of  his 
social  system.  And,  as  if  this  were  not  enough,  in- 
fanticide is  superadded  as  the  crown  and  glorifying 
aureola  of  the  whole  diabolical  economy.  After  this, 
the  reader  will  feel  some  curiosity  to  learn  what  it  is 
by  which  the  Poets  could  signalize  their  immortality  in 
Plato's  eyes.  The  Platonic  reason  assigned  for  taboo- 
ing the  "  Iliad  "  and  "  Odyssey,"  and  the  whole  of  the 
Tragic  drama,  is  this :  and  it  will  be  seen  that  the  first 
manifestation  of  the  evil  redressed  lies  in  the  scenic 
poets,  but  the  fountain  of  the  offence  lies  in  Homer. 
Tragedy,  says  Plato,  seeks  as  its  main  object  to  extort 
tears  and  groans  from  the  audience  in  sympathy  with 
the  distress  on  the  stage.  "Well,  why  not  ?  Because 
*here  is  some  obligation  (where  seated,  or  by  whom 
fcnacted,  Plato  is  careful  to  conceal)  which  makes  such 
lympathy,  or  such  expressions  of  sympathy,  improper 


PREFACE.  ▼ 

But  in  what  way  improper  ?  The  insinuation  is  —  as 
being  effeminate,  and  such  as  men  rightly  seek  to  hide. 
Here,  then,  we  have,  as  the  main  legislatorial  sanction 
and  rule  of  conduct,  a  sensitive  horror  of  indecorum. 
And  the  supposed  law,  or  rule,  to  which  Plato  appeals 
for  his  justification,  is  a  pure  verbal  chimera,  without 
even  a  plausible  ground.  And  for  such  a  reason  the 
sole  noble  revelation  of  moral  feeling  in  Grecian  poetry 
is  laid  under  an  interdict.  But  why  is  Homer  com- 
promised by  this  interdict  ?  Simply  on  the  ground  (a 
most  false  one)  that  he  is  originally  answerable  for  the 
dramatic  stories  employed  by  the  scenic  poets.  Now, 
in  order  to  show  the  careless  reading  of  Plato,  it  is 
sufficient  to  remark  briefly,  that  a  large  proportion  of 
the  Greek  tragedies  move  by  terror,  by  horror,  by 
sympathy  with  the  unknown  mysteries  surrounding 
human  nature,  and  are  of  a  nature  to  repel  tears ;  and 
that  for  three  out  of  four  such  ground-works  of  the 
tragic  poetry  Homer  is  noways  responsible.  It  is  also 
altogether  overlooked  by  Plato  that  in  the  grandeur 
of  the  choral  music,  in  the  mazes  of  the  symbolic 
dances,  and  in  the  awful  magnitude  of  the  spectacle 
(spectacle  and  spectators  taken  as  a  whole),  a  provision 
»s  made  for  elevating  the  mind  far  above  the  region  of 
effeminate  sensibilities.  Milton,  with  his  Christian 
standard  of  purity  and  holiness,  found  that  beyond 
measure  noble  which  Plato,  the  organizer  of  polygamy 
»nd  wholesale  infanticide,  rejects  as  immoral ! 


COl^TENTS. 


tkn 

FhB   CiBSARS 9 

Chapter  1 30 

Chapter  II 65 

Chapter  III 86 

Chapter  IV 131 

Chapter  V 179 

Chapter  VI 217 

Cicero 257 

Philosophy  of  Roi^an  History 313 

Greece  under  the  Romans:  with  a  Reference  to  Mr. 

George  Finlay's  work  upon  that  Subject      .        .  337 

PniirOsopHY  OP  Herodotus 377 

Plato's  Republic 431 

Dinner,  Real  and  Reputed 483 

Toilette  of  the  Hebrew  Lady 5i5 

The  Sphinx's  Riddle 553 

A.BLIU8  Lamia. r       .  579 

iforu t»l 


THE  cj:sars. 

The  majesty  of  the  Roman  Caesar  Semper  Au- 
gustus has  never  yet  been  fully  appreciated ;  nor  has 
any  man  yet  explained  sufficiently  in  what  respects 
this  title  and  this  office  were  absolutely  unique. 
There  was  but  one  Rome :  no  other  city,  as  we  are 
satisfied  by  the  collation  of  many  facts,  has  ever  ri- 
valled this  astonishing  metropolis  in  the  grandeur  of 
magnitude ;  and  not  many  —  perhaps  if  we  except 
the  cities  buUt  under  Grecian  auspices  along  the  line 
of  three  thousand  miles,  from  Western  Capua  or 
Syracuse  to  the  Euphrates  and  oriental  Palmyra, 
none  at  all  —  in  the  grandeur  of  architectural  dis- 
play. Speaking  even  of  London,  we  ought  in  bll 
reason  to  say  —  the  Nation  of  London,  and  not  the 
City  of  London  ;  but  of  Rome  in  her  palmy  days, 
nothing  less  could  be  said  in  the  naked  severity  of 
logic.  A  million  and  a  half  of  souls^ — that  popu- 
lation, apart  from  any  other  distinctions,  is  per  $e 
for  London,  a  justifying  ground  for  such  a  classifi- 
tation ;  d  fortiori,  then,  will  it  belong  to  a  city  which 
counted  from  one  horn  to  the  other  of  its  mighty 
suburbs  not  less  than  four  millions  of  inhabitants 
*t  the  very  least,  as  we  resolutely  maintain  aftei 
reviewing   all    that   has  been   written  on  that  much 


10  THE    CiESAKS. 

rexed  theme,  and  very  probably  half  as  many  more. 
Republican  Rome  had  her  prerogative  tribe  ;  the  earth 
has  its  prerogative  city  ;  and  that  city  was  Rome. 
.  As  was  the  city,  such  was  its  prince  —  mysterious, 
Military,  unique.  Each  was  to  the  other  an  adequate 
counterpart,  each  reciprocally  that  perfect  mirror 
which  reflected  as  it  were  in  alia  materia,  those  in- 
communicable attributes  of  grandeur,  that  under  the 
same  shape  and  denomination  never  upon  this  earth 
were  destined  to  be  revived.  Rome  has  not  been  re- 
peated ;  neither  has  Caesar.  Ubi  Ccesar,  ibi  Roma^ 
was  a  maxim  of  Roman  jurisprudence.  And  the 
same  maxim  may  be  translated  into  a  wider  mean- 
ing ;  in  which  it  becomes  true  also  for  our  historical 
experience.  Caesar  and  Rome  have  flourished  and 
expired  together.  The  illimitable  attributes  of  the 
Roman  prince,  boundless  and  comprehensive  as  the 
universal  air,  —  like  that  also  bright  and  apprehen- 
sible to  the  most  vagrant  eye,  yet  in  parts  (and  those 
not  far  removed)  unfathomable  as  outer  darkness, 
(for  no  chamber  in  a  dungeon  could  shroud  in  more 
impenetrable  concealment  a  deed  of  murder  than  the 
upper  chambers  of  the  air,)  —  these  attributes,  so 
.mpressive  to  the  imagination,  and  which  all  the 
lubtlety  of  the  Roman  ^  wit  could  as  little  fathom  as 
tee  fleets  of  Caesar  could  traverse  the  Polar  basin, 
w  unlock  the  gates  of  ':he  Pacific,  are  best  sym- 
bolized, and  find  their  most  appropriate  exponent,  in 


THE    C^SAB3.  H 

the  illimitable  city  itself — that  Rome,  whose  centre, 
the  Capitol,  was  immovable  as  Teneriffe  or  Atlas, 
but  whose  circiunference  was  shadowy,  uncertain, 
restless,  and  advancing  as  the  frontiers  of  her  all- 
conquering  empire.  It  is  false  to  say,  that  with 
Caesar  came  the  destruction  of  Koman  greatness. 
Peace,  hollow  rhetoricians  !  Until  Caesar  came,  Rome 
was  a  minor  ;  by  him,  she  attained  her  majority,  and 
fulfilled  her  destiny.  Caius  Julius,  you  say,  de- 
flowered the  virgin  purity  of  her  civil  liberties. 
Doubtless,  then,  Rome  had  risen  immaculate  from 
the  arms  of  Sylla  and  of  Marius.  But,  if  it  were 
Caius  Julius  who  deflowered  Rome,  if  under  him  she 
forfeited  her  dowery  of  ci\iic  purity,  if  to  him  she 
first  unloosed  her  maiden  zone,  then  be  it  affirmed 
boldly  —  that  she  reserved  her  greatest  favors  for 
the  noblest  of  her  wooers,  and  we  may  plead  the 
justification  of  Falconbridge  for  his  mother's  trans- 
gressions with  the  lion-hearted  king  —  such  a  sin  was 
self-ennobled.  Did  Julius  deflower  Rome?  Then,  by 
that  consummation,  he  caused  her  to  fulfil  the  func- 
tions of  her  nature  ;  he  compelled  her  lo  exchange  the 
imperfect  and  inchoate  condition  of  a  mere  fcemina  for 
the  perfections  of  a  mulier.  And  metaphor  apart, 
▼e  maintain  that  Rome  lost  no  liberties  by  the  mighty 
Julius.  That  which  in  tendency,  and  by  the  spirit  of 
aer  institutions  ;  that  which,  by  her  very  corruptions 
md  abuses  co-operating  with  her  laws,  Rome  promised 


12  THE    CiESAKS. 

and  involved  in  the  germ  ;  even  that,  and  nothing 
less  or  different,  did  Home  unfold  and  accomplish 
under  this  Julian  violence.  The  rape  [if  such  it  weiSj 
of  Caesar,  her  final  Romulus,  completed  for  Rome  that 
which  the  rape  under  Romulus,  her  earliest  Caesar, 
had  prosperously  begun.  And  thus  by  one  godlike 
man  was  a  nation-city  matured  ;  and  from  the  ever- 
lasting and  nameless  ^  city  was  a  man  produced  — 
capable  of  taming  her  indomitable  nature,  and  of 
forcing  her  to  immolate  her  wild  virginity  to  the  state 
best  fitted  for  the  destined  '  Mother  of  empires.* 
Peace,  then,  rhetoricians,  false  threnodists  of  false 
liberty !  hollow  chanters  over  the  ashes  of  a  hollow 
republic  !  Without  Caesar,  we  afiirm  a  thousand  times 
that  there  would  have  been  no  perfect  Rome ;  and, 
but  for  Rome,  there  could  have  been  no  such  man  as 
Caesar. 

Both,  then,  were  immortal ;  each  worthy  of  each, 
and  the  Cui  viget  nihil  simile  out  secundum  of  the 
poet,  was  as  true  of  one  as  of  the  other.  Fcr,  if  by 
comparison  with  Rome  other  cities  were  but  villages, 
with  even  more  propriety  it  may  be  asserted,  that  after 
the  Roman  Caesars  all  modem  kings,  kesars,  or  empc' 
tors,  are  mere  phantoms  of  royalty.  The  Caesar  of 
Western  Rome  —  he  only  of  all  earthly  potentates, 
past  or  to  come,  could  be  said  to  reign  as  a  monarch, 
that  is,  as  a  solitary  king.  He  was  not  the  greatesx 
«f  princes,,  simply  because  there  was  no  other  but  hini' 


THE    C.S8ARS.  18 

<olf.  There  were  doubtless  a  few  outlying  rulers,  of 
unknown  names  and  titles  upon  the  margins  of  hii 
empire,  tnere  were  tributary  lieutenants  and  barbarous 
reguli,  the  obscure  vassals  of  his  sceptre,  whose  hom- 
age was  offered  on  the  lowest  step  of  his  throne,  and 
scarcely  known  to  him  but  as  objects  of  disdain.  But 
these  feudatories  could  no  more  break  the  unity  of  his 
empire,  which  embraced  the  whole  iixefitvii  —  the  total 
habitable  world  as  then  known  to  geography,  or  recog- 
nized by  the  muse  of  History  —  than  at  this  day  the 
British  empire  on  the  sea  can  be  brought  into  question 
or  made  conditional,  because  some  chief  of  Owyhee 
or  Tongataboo  should  proclaim  a  momentary  indepen- 
dence of  the  British  trident,  or  should  even  offer  a 
transient  outrage  to  her  sovereign  flag.  Such  a  tem- 
pestas  in  matula  might  raise  a  brief  uproar  in  his  little 
native  archipelago,  but  too  feeble  to  reach  the  shores 
of  Europe  by  an  echo  —  or  to  ascend  by  so  much,  as 
an  infantine  susurrtis  to  the  ears  of  the  British  Neptune. 
Parthia,  it  is  true,  might  pretend  to  the  dignity  of  an 
empire.  But  her  sovereigns,  though  sitting  in  the  seat 
of  the  great  king,  (6  paatlevt,)  were  no  longer  the  rulers 
of  a  vast  and  polished  nation.  They  were  regarded  as 
barbarians  —  potent  only  oy  their  standing  army,  not 
upon  the  larger  basis  of  civic  strength ;  and,  even  under 
ihis  limitation,  they  were  supposed  to  owe  more  to  the 
lireumstances  of  their  position  —  their  climate,  theii 
■emoteness,  and  their   'uaccessibility   except   through 


14  THE    CiESABS. 

*rid  and  sultry  deserts  —  than  to  intrinsic  resources, 
such  as  could  be  permanently  relied  on  in  a  serious 
trial  of  strength  between  the  two  powers.  The  kiugi 
of  Parthia,  therefore,  were  far  enough  from  being 
regarded  in  the  light  of  antagonistic  forces  to  tie 
majesty  of  Rome.  And,  these  withdrawn  from  tne 
comparison,  who  else  was  there  —  what  prince,  what 
king,  what  potentate  of  any  denomination,  to  break  the 
universal  calm,  that  through  centuries  continued  to 
lave,  as  with  the  quiet  undulations  of  summer  lakea^ 
the  sacred  footsteps  of  the  Caesarean  throne  ?  The 
Byzantine  court  which,  merely  as  the  inheritor  of 
some  fragments  from  that  august  throne,  was  drunk 
with  excess  of  pride,  surrounded  itself  with  elaborate 
expressions  of  grandeur  beyond  what  mortal  eyea 
were  supposed  able  to  sustain. 

These  fastidious,  and  sometimes  fantastic  ceremo- 
nies, originally  devised  as  the  very  extremities  of 
Mxti-barbarism,  were  often  themselves  but  too  nearly 
allied  in  spirit  to  the  barbaresque  in  taste.  In  reality, 
lome  parts  of  the  Byzantine  court  ritual  were  arranged 
in  the  same  spirit  as  that  of  China  or  the  Burman  em- 
pire ;  or  fashioned  by  anticipation,  as  one  might  think, 
on  the  practice  of  that  Oriental  Cham,  who  daily 
proclaims  by  sound  of  trumpet  to  the  kings  in  the 
four  corners  of  the  earth  —  that  they,  having  dutifully 
fcwaited  the  close  of  his  dinner,  may  now  with  hit 
*oyal  license  go  to  their  own. 


THE    CJESA.B8.  IC 

From  «uch  vestiges  of  derivative  grandeur,  propa- 
gated to  ages  so  remote  from  itself,  and  sustained  by 
manners  so  different  from  the  spirit  of  her  own,  — 
we  may  faintly  measure  the  strength  of  the  original 
impulse  given  to  the  feelings  of  men  by  the  sacred 
majesty  of  the  Roman  thi'one.  How  potent  must  that 
splendor  have  been,  whose  mere  reflection  shot  rays 
upon  a  distant  crown,  under  another  heaven,  and 
across  the  wilderness  of  fourteen  centuries  !  Splen- 
dor, thus  transmitted,  thus  sustained,  and  thus  imper- 
ishable, argues  a  transcendent  in  the  basis  of  radical 
power.  Broad  and  deep  must  those  foundations  have 
been  laid,  which  could  support  an  '  arch  of  empire ' 
rising  to  that  giddy  altitude  —  an  altitude  which  suf- 
ficed to  bring  it  within  the  ken  of  posterity  to  the 
sixtieth  generation. 

Power  is  measured  by  resistance.  Upon  such  a 
scale,  if  it  were  applied  with  skill,  the  relations  of 
greatness  in  Rome  to  the  greatest  of  all  that  has  gone 
before  her,  and  has  yet  come  after  her,  would  first  be 
adequately  revealed.  The  youngest  reader  will  know 
that  the  grandest  forms  in  which  the  collective  might 
of  the  human  race  has  manifested  itself,  are  the  four 
monarchies.  Four  times  have  the  distributive  forces 
of  nations  gathered  themselves,  under  the  strong  com- 
pression of  the  sword,  into  mighty  aggregates  —  de- 
nominated Universal  Empires,  or  Monarchies.  These 
tro  noticed  in  the  Holy  Scriptures :  and  it  is   upoB 


10  THB   CiBSABS. 

tAeir  warrant  that  men  have  supposed  no  fifth  mon- 
Kchy  or  universal  empire  possible  in  an  earthly  sense ; 
but  that,  whenever  such  an  empire  arises,  it  wUl  have 
Christ  for  its  head ;  in  other  words,  that  no  fifth 
monorchia  can  take  place  untO.  Christianity  shall  have 
swallowed  up  all  other  forms  of  religion,  and  shall 
have  gathered  the  whole  family  of  man  into  one  fold 
under  one  all-conquering  Shepherd.  Hence  ^  the  fa- 
natics of  1650,  who  proclaimed  Jesus  for  their  king, 
and  who  did  sincerely  anticipate  his  near  advent  in 
great  power,  and  imder  some  personal  manifestation, 
were  usually  styled  Fifth- Monarchists. 

However,  waiving  the  question  (interesting  enough 
in  itself)  —  Whether  upon  earthly  principles  a  fifth 
universal  empire  could  by  possibility  arise  in  the 
present  condition  of  knowledge  for  man  individually, 
and  of  organization  for  man  in  general  —  this  question 
waived,  and  confining  ourselveq  to  the  comparison  of 
those  four  monarchies  which  actually  have  existed,  -  - 
of  the  Assyrian  or  earliest,  we  may  remark,  that  it 
found  men  in  no  state  of  cohesion.  This  cause,  which 
came  in  aid  of  its  first  foundation,  would  probably  con- 
tinue ;  and  would  diminish  the  intensity  of  the  power 
in  the  same  proportion  as  it  promoted  its  extension- 
This  monai'chy  would  be  absolute  only  by  the  personal 
presence  of  the  monarch ;  elsewhere,  from  mere  defect 
of  organization,  it  would  and  must  betray  the  total 
imperfections  of   an  elementary  state,  and  of   a  first 


THS   CASABS.  17 

experiment.  More  by  the  weakness  inherent  in  suck 
a  constitution,  than  by  its  own  strength,  did  the 
Persian  spear  prevail  against  the  Assyrian.  Two 
centuries  revolved,  seven  or  eight  generations,  when 
Alexander  found  himself  in  the  same  position  as  Cyru» 
for  building  a  third  monarchy,  and  aided  by  the  self* 
same  vices  of  luxurious  effeminacy  in  his  enemy,  con- 
fronted with  the  self-same  virtues  of  enterprise  and 
hardihood  in  his  compatriot  soldiers.  The  native 
Persians,  in  the  earliest  and  very  limited  import  of  that 
name,  were  a  poor  and  hardy  race  of  mountaineers. 
So  were  the  men  of  Macedon ;  and  neither  one  tribe 
nor  the  other  found  any  adequate  resistance  in  the 
luxurious  occupants  of  Babylonia.  We  may  add  with 
respect  to  these  two  earliest  monarchies,  that  the  As- 
Byrian  was  undefined  with  regard  to  space,  and  the 
Persian  fugitive  with  regard  to  time.  But  for  the 
third  —  the  Grecian  or  Macedonian  —  we  know  that 
the  arts  of  civility,  and  of  civil  organization,  had  made 
g^eat  progress  before  the  Roman  strength  was  measured 
against  it.  In  Macedon,  in  Achaia,  in  Syria,  in  Asia 
Minor,  in  Egypt,  —  everywhere  the  members  of  this 
Empire  have  begun  to  knit ;  the  cohesion  was  far 
closer,  the  development  of  their  resources  more  com- 
plete ;  the  resistance  therefore  by  many  hundred  de- 
grees more  formidable :  consequently,  by  the  fairest 
inference,  the  power  in  that  proportion  greater  which 
laid  the  foundation  of  this  last  great  monarchy.     It  is 


18  THE    C^SARS. 

probable,  indeed,  both  a  priori,  and  upon  the  eridence 
of  various  facts  which  have  survived,  that  each  of  the 
four  great  empires  successively  triumphed  over  an 
antagonist,  barbarous  in  comparison  of  itself,  and  each 
ly  and  through  that  very  superiority  in  the  arts  and 
policy  of  civilization. 

Rome,  therefore,  which  came  last  in  the  succession, 
and  swallowed  up  the  three  great  powers  that  had 
seriatim  cast  the  himian  race  into  one  mould,  and  had 
brought  them  under  the  unity  of  a  single  will,  entered 
by  inheritance  upon  all  that  its  predecessors  in  that 
career  had  appropriated,  but  in  a  condition  of  far 
ampler  development.  Estimated  merely  by  longitude 
and  latitude,  the  territory  of  the  Roman  empire  was 
the  finest  by  much  that  has  ever  fallen  under  a  single 
sceptre.  Amongst  modem  empires,  doubtless,  the 
Spanish  of  the  sixteenth  century,  and  the  British  o, 
the  present,  cannot  but  be  admired  as  prodigions 
growths  out  of  so  small  a  stem.  In  that  view  they 
i^ill  be  endless  monuments  in  attestation  of  the  mar- 
vels which  are  lodged  in  civilization.  But  considered 
in  and  for  itself,  and  with  no  reference  to  the  propor- 
tion of  the  creating  forces,  each  of  these  empires  has 
the  great  defect  of  being  disjointed,  and  even  insus- 
ceptible of  perfect  union.  It  is  in  fact  no  vinculum  of 
social  organization  which  held  them  together,  but  the 
ideal  vinculum  of  a  common  fealty,  and  of  submission 
to  the  same  sceptre.     This  is  not  like  the  tie  of  man* 


THE    C^SABS.  19 

aers,  operative  even  where  it  is  not  perceived,  but  like 
the  distinctions  of  geography  —  existing  to-day,  for- 
gotten to-morrow — and  abolished  by  a  stroke  of  the 
pen,  or  a  tiick  of  diplomacy.  Russia,  again,  a  might j 
empire  as  respects  the  simple  grandeur  of  magnitude, 
builds  her  power  upon  sterility.  She  has  it  in  her 
power  to  seduce  an  invading  foe  into  vast  circles  of 
starvation,  of  which  the  radii  measure  a  thousand 
leagues.  Frost  and  snow  are  confederates  of  her 
strength.  She  is  strong  by  her  very  weakness.  But 
Home  laid  a  belt  about  the  Mediterranean  of  a  thou- 
sand miles  in  breadth ;  and  within  that  zone  she  com- 
prehended not  only  all  the  great  cities  of  the  ancient 
world,  but  so  perfectly  did  she  lay  the  garden  of  the 
world  in  every  climate,  and  for  every  mode  of  natural 
wealth,  \vithin  her  own  ring-fence,  that  since  that  era 
no  land,  no  part  and  parcel  of  the  Roman  empire,  has 
ever  risen  into  strength  and  opulence,  except  where 
unusual  artificial  industry  has  availed  to  counteract 
the  tendencies  of  natxire.  So  entirely  had  Rome  en- 
groBsed  whatsoever  was  rich  by  the  mere  bounty  of 
native  endowment. 

Vast,  therefore,  unexampled,  immeasurable,  was  the 
oasis  of  natural  power  upon  which  the  Roman  throne 
reposed.  The  military  force  which  put  Rome  in  poe- 
uession  of  this  inordinate  power,  was  certainly  in  soma 
•aspects  artificial;  but  the  power  itself  was  natural, 
&nd  not  subject  to  tlic  ebbs  and  flows  whicli  attend  the 


20  THE    C^SARS, 

commercial  empires  of  our  days,  (for  all  are  in  part 
commercial.)  The  depression,  the  reverses,  of  K(»me, 
were  confined  to  one  shape  —  famine;  terrific  shape, 
doubtless,  but  one  which  levies  its  penalty  of  suffering 
not.  by  elaborate  processes  that  do  not  exhaust  their 
iotal  cycla  in  less  than  long  periods  of  years.  Fortu- 
nately for  thosy  who  survive,  no  arrears  of  misery  are 
allowed  by  this  scourge  of  ancient  days  ;  ^  the  total 
penalty  is  paid  down  at  once.  As  respected  the  hand 
of  man,  Rome  slept  for  ages  in  absolute  security.  She 
could  suffer  only  by  the  wrath  of  Providence  ;  and,  so 
long  as  she  continued  to  be  Rome,  for  many  a  genera- 
tion she  only  of  aU  the  monarchies  has  feared  no 
mortal  hand,^ 

•  God  and  his  Son  except. 

Created  thing  naught  valued  she  nor  shunned.' 

That  the  possessor  and  wielder  of  such  enormous 
power — power  alike  admirable  for  its  extent,  for  its 
Intensity,  and  for  its  consecration  from  all  counter- 
forces  which  could  restrain  it,  or  endander  it  —  should 
be  regarded  as  sharing  in  the  attributes  of  supernatural 
beings,  is  no  more  than  might  naturally  be  expected. 
All  other  known  power  in  human  hands  has  eilher 
been  extensive,  but  wanting  in  intensity  —  or  intense, 
but  wanting  in  extent  —  or,  thirdly,  liable  to  perma- 
nent control  and  hazard  from  some  antagonist  power 
^mmenf  urate  with  itself.  But  the  Roman  power,  in 
its    centuries  of   grandeur,    involved    every    mode  o' 


THE    CJESARS.  21 

itrength,  with  absolute  immunity  from  all  kinds  and 
degrees  of  weakness.  It  ought  not,  therefore,  to  surprise 
as  that  the  emperor,  as  tne  depositary  of  this  charmed 
power,  should  have  been  looked  upon  as  a  sacred  per- 
son, and  the  imperial  family  considered  as  a  '  divina 
domus.'  It  is  an  error  to  regard  this  as  excess  of 
adulation,  or  as  built  originally  upon  hypocrisy.  Un- 
doubtedly the  expressions  of  this  feeling  are  sometimes 
gross  and  overcharged,  as  we  find  them  in  the  very 
greatest  of  the  Roman  poets :  for  example,  it  shocks 
us  to  find  a  fine  writer,  in  anticipating  the  future  can- 
onization of  his  patron,  and  his  snstalment  amongst 
the  heavenly  hosts,  begging  him  tD  keep  his  distance 
warily  from  this  or  that  constellation,  and  to  be  cau- 
tious of  throwing  his  weight  into  either  hemisphere, 
■until  the  scale  of  proportions  were  accurately  adjusted. 
These  doubtless  are  passages  degrading  alike  to  the 
poet  and  his  subiect.  But  why  ?  Not  because  they 
Mcribe  to  the  emperor  a  sanctity  which  he  had  not  in 
'he  minds  of  men  universally,  or  which  even  to  the 
writer's  feeling  was  exaggerated,  but  because  it  was  ex- 
pressed coarsely,  and  as  a.  physical  power  :  now,  every- 
thing physical  is  measurable  by  weight,  motion,  and 
resistance  ;  and  is  therefore  definite.  But  the  very  es- 
lence  of  whatsoever  is  supernatural  lies  in  the  indefinite. 
Thxt  power,  therefore,  with  which  the  minds  of  mei 
invested  the  emperor,  was  vulgarized  by  this  coarse 
b'anfllation  into  the  region  of  j)hy8ic8.     Else  it  is  evi- 


22  THE    C^SA.RS. 

dent,  that  any  power  whicli,  by  standing  above  aL 
human  control,  occupies  the  next  relation  to  superhu- 
man modes  of  authority,  must  be  invested  by  all 
minds  alike  with  some  dim  and  undefined  relation  to 
the  sanctities  of  the  next  world.  Thus,  for  instance, 
the  Pope,  as  the  father  of  Catholic  Christendom,  could 
Dot  hut  be  viewed  with  awe  by  any  Christian  of  deep 
feeling,  as  standing  in  some  relation  to  the  true  and 
unseen  Father  of  the  spiritual  body.  Nay,  considering 
that  even  false  religions,  as  those  of  Pagan  mythology, 
have  probably  never  been  utterly  stripped  of  all  ves- 
tige of  truth,  but  that  every  such  mode  of  error  has 
perhaps  been  designed  as  a  process,  and  adapted  by 
Providence  to  the  case  of  those  who  were  capable  o\ 
admitting  no  more  perfect  shape  of  truth  ;  even  the 
heads  of  such  superstitions  (the  Dalai  Lama,  for  in- 
stance) may  not  unreasonably  be  presumed  as  within 
the  cognizance  and  special  protection  of  Heaven. 
Mudi  more  may  this  be  supposed  of  him  to  whose  care 
was  confided  the  weightier  part  of  the  human  race; 
who  had  it  in  his  power  to  promote  or  to  suspend  the 
progress  of  human  improvement ;  and  of  whom,  and 
ihe  motions  of  whose  will,  the  very  prophets  of  Judea 
»cok  cognizance.  No  nation,  and  no  king,  was  utterly 
iJivorced  from  the  councils  of  God.  Palestine,  as  a 
central  chamber  of  God's  administration,  stood  in 
•ome  I  elation  to  all.  It  has  been  remarked,  as  a  mys- 
terious  and  significant  fact,  that  the  founders  of  th* 


THE    CJESJlRS  23 

peat  empires  all  had  some  connection,  more  or  less, 
with  the  temple  of  Jerusalem.  Melancthon  even  ob- 
serves it  in  his  Sketch  of  Universal  History,  as  worthy 
of  notice  —  that  Pompey  died,  as  it  were,  within  sight 
of  that  very  temple  which  he  had  polluted.  Let  us 
uot  suppose  that  Paganism,  or  Pagan  nations,  were 
therefore  excluded  from  the  concern  and  tender  inter- 
est of  Heaven.  The'y  also  had  their  place  allowed. 
And  we  may  be  sure  that,  amongst  them,  the  Roman 
emperor,  as  the  great  accountant  for  the  happiness  of 
more  men,  and  men  more  cultivated,  than  ever  before 
were  intrusted  to  the  motions  of  a  single  will,  had  a 
special,  singular,  and  mysterious  relation  to  the  secret 
counsels  of  Heaven. 

Even  we,  therefore,  may  lawfully  attribute  some 
sanctity  to  the  Roman  emperor.  That  the  Romans 
did  so  with  absolute  sincerity  is  certain.  The  altars 
of  the  emperor  had  a  twofold  consecration  ;  to  violate 
them,  was  the  double  crime  of  treason  and  heresy.  la 
us  appearances  of  state  and  ceremony,  the  fire,  the 
uacred  fire  inonntvt,  was  carried  in  ceremonial  solemnity 
before  him ;  and  every  other  circumstance  of  divine 
Worship  attended  the  emperor  in  his  lifetime.'^ 

To  this  view  of  the  imperial  character  and  relations 
must  be  added  one  single  circumstance,  which  in  some 
.'tteasure  altered  the  whole  for  the  individual  who 
happened  to  fill  the  ;ffice.  The  emperor  de  facto 
■flight  be  viewed  under  two  aspects  ;    there  was  the 


24  THE    CiESARS. 

ir..\n,  and  there  was  the  office.  In  his  office  he  was 
immortal  and  sacred  :  but  as  a  c^utsticn  might  still 
be  raised,  by  means  of  a  mercenary  army,  as  to  the 
claims  of  the  particular  individual  who  at  any  time 
filled  the  office,  the  very  sanctity  and  privilege  of  the 
chai-acter  with  which  he  was  clothed  might  actually  be 
turned  against  himself;  and  here  it  is,  at  this  point, 
that  the  character  of  Roman  emperor  became  truly 
and  mysteriously  awful.  Gibbon  has  taken  notice  of 
the  extraordinary  situation  of  a  subject  in  the  Roman 
empire  who  should  attempt  to  fly  from  the  wrath  of 
the  crown.  Such  was  the  ubiquity  of  the  emperor 
that  this  was  absolutely  hopeless.  Except  amongst 
pathless  deserts  or  barbarous  nomads,  it  was  impossi- 
ble to  find  even  a  transient  sanctuary  from  the  imperial 
pursuit.  If  he  went  down  to  the  sea,  there  he  met  the 
emperor  :  if  he  took  the  wings  of  the  morning,  and 
fled  to  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  earth,  there  also  waa 
the  emperor  or  his  lieutenants.  But  the  same  omni- 
presence of  imperial  anger  and  retribution  which  with- 
ered the  hopes  of  the  poor  humble  prisoner,  met  and 
confounded  the  emperor  himself,  when  hurled  from  his 
giddy  elevation  by  some  fortunate  rival.  All  the  king- 
doms of  the  earth,  to  one  in  that  situation,  became  but 
so  many  wards  of  the  same  infinite  prison.  Flight,  if 
it  were  evsn  successful  for  the  moment,  did  but  a  little 
retard  his  inevitable  doom.  And  so  evident  was  this, 
khat  hardly  in  one  instance  did  the  fallen  prince  attempt 


THE     CJSSARS.  2ft 

to  fly,  but  passively  met  tae  death  whicli  was  inevitable, 
in  the  very  spot  where  ruin  had  overtaken  him.  Nei- 
ther was  it  possible  even  for  a  merciful  conqueror  to 
ihow  mercy  ;  for,  .'n  the  presence  of  an  army  so  mer- 
cenary and  factious,  his  own  safety  was  but  too  deeply 
involved  in  the  extermination  of  rival  pretenders  to 
the  crown. 

Such,  amidst  the  sacred  security  and  inviolability  of 
the  office,  was  the  hazardous  tenare  of  the  individual. 
Nor  did  his  dangers  always  arise  from  persons  in  the 
rank  of  competitors  and  rivals.  Sometimes  it  menaced 
him  in  quarters  which  his  eye  had  never  penetrated, 
and  from  enemies  too  obscure  to  have  reached  his  ear. 
By  way  of  illustration  we  will  cite  a  case  from  the  life 
of  the  Emperor  Commodus,  which  is  wild  enough  to 
have  furnished  the  plot  of  a  romance  —  though  as  well 
authenticated  as  any  other  passage  in  that  reign.  The 
Btory  is  narrated  by  Herodian,  and  the  circumstances 
*re  these  :  —  A  slave  of  noble  qualities,  and  of  mag- 
Lificent  person,  having  liberated  himself  from  the 
degradations  of  bondage,  determined  to  avenge  his 
own  wrongs  by  inflicting  continual  terror  upon  the 
town  and  neighborhood  which  had  witnessed  his  hu- 
miliation. For  this  purpose  he  resorted  to  the  woody 
recesses  of  the  province,  (somewhere  in  the  modem 
Transylvania,)  and,  attracting  to  his  wild  encampment 
%B  many  fugitives  as  he  could,  by  degrees  he  succeeded 
«i  forming  and  training  a  very  formidable  troop  of  fre©« 


1^  TMK    C^SABS, 

hooters.  Partly  from  the  energy  of  his  own  naturei^ 
End  partly  from  the  neglect  and  remissness  of  the  pro- 
vincial magistrates,  the  robber  captain  rose  from  leris  to 
more,  until  he  had  formed  a  little  army,  equal  to  the 
task  of  assaulting  fortified  cities.  In  this  stage  of  his 
idventures,  he  encountered  and  defeated  several  oi 
the  imperial  officers  commanding  large  detachments  of 
troops ;  and  at  length  grew  of  consequence  sufficient  to 
draw  upon  himself  the  emperor's  eye,  and  the  honor  of 
Lis  personal  displeasure.  In  high  wrath  and  disdain  &t 
the  insults  ofiered  to  his  eagles  by  this  fugitive  slave, 
Commodus  fulminated  against  him  such  an  edict  as  left 
him  no  hope  of  much  longer  escaping  with  impunity. 

Public  vengeance  was  now  awakened  ;  the  imperial 
troops  were  marching  from  every  quarter  upon  the 
same  centre  ;  and  the  slave  became  sensible  that  in  r 
very  short  space  of  time  he  must  be  surrounded  and 
destroyed.  In  this  desperate  situation  he  took  a  des- 
perate resolution  :  he  assembled  his  troops,  laid  before 
them  his  plan,  concerted  the  various  steps  for  carrying 
it  into  effect,  and  then  dismissed  them  as  independent 
wanderers.     So  ends  the  first  chapter  of  the  tale. 

The  next  opens  in  the  passes  of  the  Alps,  whither 
by  various  routes,  of  seven  or  eight  hundred  miles  in 
extent,  these  men  had  threaded  their  way  in  manifold 
disguises  through  the  very  midst  of  the  emperor'f 
eampB.  According  to  this  man's  gigantic  enterprise 
in  which  the  means  were  as  audacious  as  the  pm'pose 


THE    C^SAKS.  27 

liie  conspirators  were  to  rendezvous,  and  arat  to  recog- 
nize each  other  at  the  gates  of  Rome.  From  the  Danul^e 
to  the  Tiber  did  this  band  of  robbers  severally  pursuo 
theii*  perilous  routes  through  all  the  difficulties  of  the 
road  and  the  jealousies  of  the  military  stations,  sus- 
tained by  the  mere  thirst  of  vengeance  —  vengeance 
against  that  mighty  foe  whom  they  knew  only  by  his 
proclamations  against  themselves.  Everything  con- 
tinued to  prosper  ;  the  conspirators  met  under  the  walla 
of  Rome  ;  the  final  details  were  arranged  ;  and  those 
also  would  have  prospered  but  for  a  trifling  accident. 
The  season  was  one  of  general  carnival  at  Rome  ;  and, 
)jy  the  help  of  those  disguises  which  the  license  of  thia 
festal  time  allowed,  the  murderers  were  to  have  pene- 
trated as  maskers  to  the  emperor's  retirement,  when  a 
casual  word  or  two  awoke  the  suspicions  of  a  sentinel. 
One  of  the  conspirators  was  arrested ;  under  the  terror 
and  uncertainty  of  the  moment  he  made  much  ampler 
discoveries  than  were  expected  of  him ;  the  other 
accomplices  were  secured  :  and  Commodus  was  deliv- 
ered from  the  uplifted  daggers  of  those  who  had  sought 
\iim  by  months  of  patient  wanderings,  pursued  through 
%11  the  depths  of  the  Illyrian  forests,  and  the  difficulties 
of  the  Alpine  passes.  It  is  not  easy  to  find  words  com- 
mensurate to  the  energetic  hardihood  of  a  slave  —  who, 
$j  way  of  answer  and  reprisal  to  an  edict  which  con 
ligned  him  to  persecutioi  and  death,  determines  to 
trobs  Europe  in  quest  of  its  author,  though  no  less  a 


28  THE     C^SAUS. 

person  than  the  master  of  the  world  —  to  seek  tiim  out 
in  the  inner  recesses  of  his  ca'^^'-^J,  city  and  his  private 
palace  —  and  there  to  lodge  a  dagger  in  his  heart,  as 
the  adequate  reply  to  the  imperial  sentence  of  proscrip- 
tion against  himself. 

Such,  amidst  his  superhuman  grandeur  and  conse- 
crated powers  of  the  Roman  emperor's  office,  were  the 
extraordinary  perils  which  menaced  the  individual,  and 
the  peculiar  frailties  of  his  condition.  Nor  is  it  possi- 
ble that  these  circumstances  of  violent  opposition  can 
be  better  illustrated  than  in  this  tale  of  Herodi2> 
Whilst  the  emperor's  mighty  arms  were  stretched  out 
to  arrest  some  potentate  in  the  heart  of  Asia,  a  poor 
slave  is  silently  and  stealthily  creeping  round  the  base 
of  the  Alps,  with  the  purpose  of  winning  his  way  as  a 
murderer  to  the  imperial  bedchamber ;  Caesar  is  watch- 
ing some  mighty  rebel  of  the  Orient,  at  a  distance  of 
two  thousand  leagues,  and  he  overlooks  the  dagger 
which  is  at  his  own  heart.  In  short,  all  the  heights 
and  the  depths  which  belong  to  man  as  aspirers,  all  the 
contrasts  of  glory  and  meanness,  the  extremities  of 
what  is  highest  and  lowest  in  human  possibility,  —  all 
met  in  the  situation  of  the  Roman  Caesars,  and  have 
oombined  to  make  them  the  most  interesting  studies 
^hich  history  has  furnished. 

This,  as  a  general  proposition,  will  be  readily  ad- 
mitted. But  meantime,  it  is  remarkable  that  no  fielc 
b&9  been  less  trodden  than  the  private  memorials  o. 


THE,     J^dAKS.  39 

dioac  very  Caesars ;  whilst  at  the  same  time  it  is  equally 
remarkable,  in  concurrence  with  that  subject  for  won- 
ier,  that  precisely  with  the  first  of  the  Caesars  cora- 
mences  the  first  page  of  what  in  modern  times  wo 
understand  by  anecdotes.  Suetonius  is  the  earliest 
writer  in  that  department  of  biography  ;  so  far  as  we 
know,  he  may  be  held  first  to  have  devised  it  &3  t. 
mo'le  of  history.  The  six  writers,  whose  sketches 
ore  collectrd  under  the  general  title  of  the  Augustan 
History,  followed  in  the  same  track.  Though  full  of 
entertainment,  and  of  the  most  curious  researches, 
they  are  all  of  them  entirely  unknown,  except  :  a 
few  elaborate  scholars.  We  purpose  to  collect  from 
these  obscure  but  most  interesting  memorialists,  a  few 
ok  etches  and  biographical  portraits  of  these  great 
princes,  whose  public  life  is  sometimes  known,  but 
very  rarely  any  part  of  their  private  and  personal 
history.  We  must,  of  course,  commence  with  the 
mighty  founder  of  the  Caesars.  In  his  case  we  cannot 
expect  so  much  of  absolute  novelty  as  in  that  of  those 
who  succeed.  But  if,  in  this  first  instance,  we  are 
forced  to  touch  a  little  upon  old  things,  we  shall  con- 
fine ourselves  as  much  as  possible  to  those  which  are 
susceptible  of  new  aspects.  For  the  whole  gallery  of 
the 36  who  follow,  we  can  undertake  that  the  memorials 
which  we  shall  bring  forward,  may  be  looked  upon  at 
oelonging  pretty  mucr  to  wnat  has  hitherto  been  • 
acaled  book. 


10  TH£    C^SA.KS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

The  character  of  the  first  Caesar  h^  perhaps  never 
been  worse  appreciated  than  hy  him  who  in  one  sense 
described  it  best  —  that  is,  with  most  force  and  elo- 
quence wherever  he  really  did  comprehend  it.  Thia 
was  Lucan,  who  has  nowhere  exhibited  more  brilliant 
rhetoric,  nor  wandered  more  from  the  truth,  than  in 
the  contrasted  portraits  of  Csesar  and  Pompey.  The 
famous  line,  '  Nil  actum  reputans  si  quid  superessei 
agendum,'  is  a  fine  feature  of  the  real  character,  finely 
3xpressed.  But  if  it  had  been  Lucan's  purpose  (as 
possibly,  with  a  view  to  Pompey's  benefit,  in  some 
respects  it  was)  utterly  and  extravagantly  to  falsify 
the  character  of  the  great  Dictator,  by  no  single  trait 
could  he  more  effectually  have  fulfilled  that  purpose, 
nor  in  fewer  words,  than  by  this  expressive  passage, 
'  Gaudensque  viam  fecisse  mind.'  Such  a  trait  would 
be  almost  extravagant  applied  even  to  Marius,  who 
(though  in  many  respects  a  perfect  model  of  Roman 
grandeur,  massy,  columnar,  imperturbable,  and  more 
perhaps  than  any  one  man  recorded  in  history  capable 
of  justifying  the  bold  illustration  of  that  character  in 
Horace,  '  Sifractus  illahatur  orhis,  impavidum  ferieJt 


THE    C.ESARS.  St 

•uina,)  had,  however,  a  ferocity  in  his  character,  and  a 
touch  of  the  devil  in  him,  very  rarely  united  with  the 
tame  tranquil  intrepidity.  But  for  Caesar,  the  all* 
accomplished  statesman,  the  splendid  orator,  the  man 
of  elegant  habits  and  polished  taste,  the  patron  of  '.he 
fine  arts  in  a  degree  transcending  all  examples  of  his 
own  or  the  previous  age,  and  as  a  man  of  general 
literature  so  much  beyond  his  contemporaries,  except 
Cicero,  that  he  looked  down  even  upon  the  brilliant 
Sylla  as  an  illiterate  person,  —  to  class  such  a  man 
with  the  race  of  furious  destroyers  exulting  in  the 
desolations  they  spread,  is  to  err  not  by  an  individual 
trait,  but  by  the  whole  genus.  The  Attilas  and  the 
Tamerlanes,  who  rejoice  in  avowing  themselves  the 
scourges  of  God,  and  the  special  instruments  of  hia 
wrath,  have  no  one  feature  of  affinity  to  the  polished 
and  humane  Caesar,  and  would  as  little  have  compre* 
hended  his  character,  as  he  could  have  respected  theirs. 
Even  Cato,  the  unworthy  hero  of  Lucan,  might  have 
suggested  to  him  a  little  more  truth  in  this  iustance, 
by  a  celebrated  remark  which  he  made  on  the  charac- 
isristic  distinction  of  Caesar,  in  comparison  with  other 
revolutionary  disturbers ;  for,  whereas  others  had  at- 
tempted the  overthrow  of  the  state  in  a  continued 
pcroxysm  of  fury,  and  in  a  s'^ate  of  mind  resembling 
ihe  lunacy  of  intoxication,  that  Caesar,  on  the  contrary, 
among  that  whole  class  of  ci^'il  disturbers,  was  the  only 
ine  who  had  oime  to  the  task  in  a  temper  of  sobriety 


52  THE    C^SARS. 

and  moderation,  (unum  accessisse  sohrium  ad  rempubli' 
cam  delendam.) 

In  reality,  Lucan  did  not  think  as  lie  wrote.  He 
had  a  purpose  to  serve ;  and  in  an  age  when  to  act 
like  a  freeman  was  no  longer  possible,  he  determined 
at  least  to  write  in  that  character.  It  is  probable, 
also,  that  he  wrote  with  a  vindictive  or  malicious  feel- 
ing towards  Nero ;  and,  as  the  single  means  he  had  foi 
gratifying  that,  resolved  upon  sacrificing  the  grandeui 
of  Caesar's  character  wherever  it  should  be  found  pos- 
sible. Meantime,  in  spite  of  himself,  Lucan  for  evei 
betrays  his  lurking  consciousness  of  the  truth.  Nor 
are  there  any  testimonies  to  Caesar's  vast  superiority 
more  memorably  pointed,  than  those  which  are  indi- 
rectly and  involuntarily  extorted  from  this  Catonic 
poet,  by  the  course  of  his  narration.  Never,  for  ex- 
aitiple,  was  there  within  the  same  compass  of  words,  a 
more  emphatic  expression  of  Caesar's  essential  and 
inseparable  grandeur  of  thought,  which  could  not  be 
disguised  or  be  laid  aside  for  an  instant,  than  is  found 
in  the  three  casual  words  —  Indocilis  privata  loqui. 
The  very  mould,  it  seems,  by  Lucan's  confession,  of 
ois  trivial  conversation  was  regal;  nor  could  he,  even 
to  serve  a  purpose,  abjure  it  for  so  much  as  a  casual 
purpose.  The  acts  of  Caesar  speak  also  the  same  lan- 
guage ;  and  as  these  are  less  susceptible  of  a  false 
coloring  than  the  features  of  a  general  character,  w« 
find  this  poet  of  liberty,  in  the  midst  of  one  continr* 


THE    CJESARS.  3S 

au9  effort  to  distort  the  truth,  and  to  dress  up  two 
•cenical  heroes,  forced  by  the  mere  necessities  of  his* 
tory  into  a  reluLtant  homage  to  Caesar's  supremacy  of 
moral  grandeur. 

Of  so  great  a  man  it  must  be  interesting  to  know 
ail  the  well  attested  opinions  which  bear  upon  topvoi 
of  universal  interest  to  human  nature :  as  indeed  uo 
others  stood  much  chance  of  preservation,  unless  it 
were  from  as  minute  and  curious  a  collector  of  anec- 
dotage  as  Suetonius.  And,  first,  it  would  be  gratifying 
to  know  the  opinion  of  Caesar,  if  he  had  any  peculiar 
to  himself,  on  the  great  theme  of  Religion.  It  has 
been  held,  indeed,  that  the  constitution  of  his  mind, 
and  the  general  cast  of  his  character,  indisposed  him 
to  religious  thoughts.  Nay,  it  has  been  common  to 
class  him  amongst  deliberate  atheists ;  and  some  well 
known  anecdotes  are  current  in  books,  which  illustrate 
his  contempt  for  the  vulgar  class  of  auguries.  In  this, 
however,  he  went  no  farther  than  Cicero,  and  other 
great  contemporaries,  who  assuredly  were  no  atheists. 
One  mark  perhaps  of  the  wide  interval  which,  in 
Caesar's  age,  had  begun  to  separate  the  Roman  nobility 
from  the  hungry  and  venal  populace  who  were  daily 
put  up  to  sale,  and  bought  by  the  highest  bidder, 
manifested  itself  in  the  increasing  disdain  for  the 
tastes  and  ruling  sympathies  of  the  lowest  vulgar. 
No  mob  could  be  more  abjectly  servile  than  was  that 
of  Rome  to  the  superstition  of  jx^rtcnts,  prodigies,  and 


34  THE    CXSARS. 

omens.  Thus  far,  in  common  with  his  order,  and  in 
this  sense,  Julius  Caesar  was  naturally  a  despisor  of 
superstition.  Mere  strength  of  understanding  would, 
perhaps,  have  made  him  so  in  any  age,  and  apart  from 
the  circumstances  of  his  personal  history.  This  nat* 
ural  tendency  in  him  would  doubtless  receive  • 
further  bias  in  the  same  direction  from  the  office  of 
Pontifex  Maximus,  which  he  held  at  an  early  stage  of 
his  public  career.  This  office,  by  letting  him  too  much 
behind  the  curtain,  and  exposing  too  entirely  the  base 
machinery  of  ropes  and  pulleys,  which  sustained  the 
miserable  jugglery  played  off  upon  the  popular 
credulity,  impressed  him  perhaps  even  unduly  with 
contempt  for  those  who  could  be  its  dupes.  And  we 
may  add,  that  Caesar  was  constitutionally,  as  well  aa 
by  accident  of  position,  too  much  a  man  of  the  world, 
had  too  powerful  a  leaning  to  the  virtues  of  active  life, 
was  governed  by  too  partial  a  sympathy  with  the 
whole  class  of  active  forces  in  human  nature,  as  con- 
tradistinguished from  those  which  tend  to  contem- 
plative purposes,  under  any  circumstances,  to  have 
become  a  profound  believer,  or  a  steadfast  reposer  of 
his  fears  and  anxieties,  in  religious  influences.  A  man 
3f  the  world  is  but  another  designation  for  a  man 
indispoaed  to  religious  awe  or  contemplative  enthu- 
liasm.  Still  it  is  a  doctrine  which  we  cherish  —  that 
grandeur  of  mind  in  any  one  department  whatsoever, 
(apposing  only  that  it  exists  in  excess,  disposes  a  mai 


THE    C^SARS.  S5 

10  Bome  degree  of  sympathy  with  all  other  grandeur, 
however  alien  in  its  quality  or  different  in  its  form. 
And  upon  this  ground  we  presume  the  great  Dictf  tor 
to  have  had  an  interest  in  religious  themes  by  mere 
compulsion  of  his  own  extraordinary  elevation  of 
mind,  after  making  the  fullest  allowance  for  the  spe- 
cial quality  of  that  mind,  which  did  certainly,  to  the 
whole  extent  of  its  characteristics,  tend  entirely  to 
estrange  him  from  such  themes.  We  find,  accord- 
ingly, that  though  sincerely  a  despiser  of  superstition, 
and  with  a  frankness  which  must  sometimes  have  been 
hazardous  in  that  age,  Caesar  was  himself  also  super- 
stitious. No  man  could  have  been  otherwise  who  lived 
and  conversed  Avith  that  generation  of  people.  But  if 
superstitious,  he  was  so  after  a  mode  of  his  own.  In 
his  very  infirmities  Caesar  manifested  his  greatness: 
his  very  littlenesses  were  noble. 

•  Nee  licait  populis  parvum  te,  Nile,  videre.' 
That  ha  placed  some  confidence  in  dreams,  for  in- 
•tance,  is  certain :  because,  had  he  slighted  them 
unreservedly,  he  would  not  have  dwelt  upon  them 
afterwards,  or  have  troubled  himself  to  recall  their 
circumstances.  Here  we  trace  his  human  weakness. 
Yet  again  we  are  reminded  that  it  was  the  weakness  of 
Caesar ;  for  the  dreams  were  noble  in  their  imagery, 
t.\A  Cseearean  (so  to  speak)  in  their  tone  of  moral 
feeling.  Thus,  for  example,  the  night  before  he  wai 
usassinatod,  he  dreamt  at  intervals  that  he  was  soar- 


•  I  THE     C,«5ARS. 

i  I,.;  ab  vt  the  clouds  on  wings,  and  that  he  placed  Lis 
i  I  id  within  the  right  hand  of  Jove.  It  would  seem 
clii.t  perhaps  aome  obscure  and  half-formed  image 
floated  in  his  mind,  of  the  eagle,  as  the  king  of  birds ; 
secondly,  as  the  tutelary  emblem  under  which  bis 
conquering  legions  had  so  often  obeyed  his  voice  ;  and, 
thirdly,  as  the  bird  of  Jove.  To  this  triple  relation  ci 
the  bird  his  dream  covertly  appears  to  point.  And  a 
singular  coincidence  appears  between  this  dream  and 
a  little  anecdote  brought  down  to  us,  as  having  ac- 
tually occurred  in  Rome  about  twenty-four  hours 
before  his  death.  A  little  bird,  which  by  some  is  rep- 
resented as  a  very  small  kind  of  sparrow,  but  which, 
both  to  the  Greeks  and  the  Romans,  was  known  by  a 
name  implying  a  regal  station  (probably  from  the  am- 
bitious courage  which  at  times  prompted  it  to  attack 
the  eagle),  was  observed  to  direct  its  flight  towards 
the  senate-house,  consecrated  by  Pompey,  whilst  f 
crowd  of  other  birds  were  seen  to  hang  upon  its  flight 
in  close  pursuit.  What  might  be  the  object  of  the 
chase,  whether  the  little  king  himself,  or  a  sprig  '^f 
laurel  which  he  bore  in  his  mouth,  could  not  be  deter- 
mined. The  whole  train,  pursuers  and  pursued,  con- 
tinued their  flight  towards  Pompey's  hall.  Flight 
and  pursuit  were  there  alike  arrested  ;  the  little  king 
was  overtaken  by  his  enemies,  who  fell  upon  him 
u  80  nony  ccnspirators,  and  tore  him  limb  fron 
limb. 


THE    C.ESARS.  37 

If  this  anecdote  were  reported  to  Caesar,  Avhict  ia 
act  tt  all  improbable,  considering  tbe  earnestness  with 
which  his  friends  labored  to  dissuade  him  from  his 
purpose  of  meeting  the  senate  on  the  approaching 
Ides  of  March,  it  is  very  little  to  be  doubted  that  it 
had  a  considerable  effect  upon  his  feelings,  and  that, 
in  fact,  his  own  dream  grew  out  of  the  impression 
which  it  had  made.  This  way  of  linking  the  two 
anecdotes  as  cause  and  effect,  would  also  bring  a 
third  anecdote  under  the  same  nexus.  We  are  told 
that  Calpurnia,  the  last  wife  of  Caesar,  dreamed  on  the 
same  night,  and  to  the  same  ominous  result.  The 
circumstances  of  her  dream  are  less  striking,  because 
less  figurative  ;  but  on  that  account  its  import  was  less 
open  to  doubt :  she  dreamed,  in  fact,  that  after  the 
roof  of  their  mansion  had  fallen  in,  her  husband  was 
stabbed  in  her  bosom.  Laying  all  these  omens  to- 
gether, Caesar  would  have  been  more  or  less  than 
human  had  he  continued  utterly  undepressed  by  them. 
A.nd  if  so  much  superstition  as  even  this  implies,  must 
be  taken  to  argue  some  little  weakness,  on  the  other 
hand  let  it  not  be  forgotten,  that  this  very  weakness 
does  but  the  more  illustrate  the  unusual  force  of  mind, 
and  the  heroic  will,  which  obstinately  laid  aside  these 
conairring  prefigurations  of  impending  destruction ; 
toncurring,  we  say,  amongst  themselves  —  and  con- 
curring also  with  a  prophecy  of  older  d&tr ,  which 
was  totally  independent  of  them  all. 


B8  THE    C^SARS. 

There  is  anothei  and  somewhat  sublime  story  of  the 
tame  class,  which  belongs  to  the  most  interesting 
moment  of  Caesar's  life ;  and  those  Avho  are  disposed 
to  explain  all  such  tales  upon  physiological  principles, 
will  find  an  easy  solution  of  this,  in  particular,  in  the 
exhaustion  of  body,  and  the  intense  anxiety  whici 
must  have  debilitated  even  Caesar  under  the  whole 
circumstances  of  the  case.  On  the  ever  memorable 
night,  when  he  had  resolved  to  take  the  first  step  (and 
in  such  a  case  the  first  step,  as  regarded  the  power  of 
retreating,  was  also  the  final  step)  which  placed  him 
in  arms  against  the  state,  it  happened  that  his  head- 
quarters were  at  some  distance  from  the  little  river 
Rubicon,  which  formed  the  boundary  of  his  province. 
With  his  usual  caution,  that  no  news  of  his  motions 
might  run  before  himself,  on  this  night  Caesar  gave  an 
entertainment  to  his  friends,  in  the  midst  of  which  he 
slipped  away  unobserved,  and  with  a  small  retinue 
proceeded  through  the  woods  to  the  point  of  the  river 
at  which  he  designed  to  cross.  The  night  ^  was  stormy, 
and  by  the  violence  of  the  wind  all  the  torches  of  hia 
escort  were  blown  out,  so  that  the  whole  party  lost 
their  road,  having  probably  at  first  intentionally  devi- 
ated from  the  main  route,  and  wandered  about  through 
the  whole  night,  until  the  early  dawn  enabled  them  to 
recover  their  true  course.  The  light  was  still  gray  and 
uncertain,  as  Caesar  and  his  retinue  rode  down  upon 
fee  banks  of  the  fatal  river  —  to  cross  which  with  arm* 


THE    C^SARS.  39 

in  his  hands,  since  the  further  bank  lay  within  the  ter- 
ritory of  the  Republic,  ipso  facto,  proclaimed  any 
Roman  a  rebel  and  a  traitor.  No  man,  the  firmest  or 
the  mos*.  obtuse,  could  be  otherwise  than  deeply  agi- 
tated, w  hen  looking  down  upon  this  little  brook  —  so 
insignificant  in  itself,  but  invested  by  law  with  a  sano 
tity  so  awful,  and  so  dire  a  consecration.  The  whole 
course  of  future  history,  and  the  fate  of  every  nation, 
would  necessarily  be  determined  by  the  irretrievable 
act  of  the  next  half  hour. 

In  these  moments,  and  with  this  spectacle  before 
him,  and  contemplating  these  immeasurable  conse- 
quences consciously  for  the  last  time  that  could  axfow 
him  a  retreat,  —  impressed  also  by  the  solemnity  and 
deep  tranquillity  of  the  silent  dawn,  whilst  the  exhaus- 
tion of  his  night  wanderings  predisposed  him  to 
nerfous  irritation,  —  Csesar,  we  may  be  sure,  was 
profoundly  agitated.  The  whole  elements  of  the 
scene  were  almost  scenically  disposed;  the  law  of 
antagonism  having  perhaps  never  been  employed  with 
BO  much  efiect:  the  little  quiet  brook  presenting  a 
direct  antithesis  to  its  grand  political  character ;  and 
the  innocent  dawn,  with  its  pure,  untroubled  repose, 
contrasting  potently,  to  a  man  of  any  intellectual  sen- 
sibility, with  the  long  chaos  of  bloodshed,  darkness 
and  anarchy,  which  was  to  take  its  rise  from  the 
apparently  trifling  acts  of  this  one  morning.  So  pre- 
pared, we  need  not  much  wonder  at  what  followed 


10  THE    C^SARS. 

Caesar  was  yet  lingering  on  the  hither  bank,  when 
Buddenly,  at  a  point  not  far  distant  from  himself,  an 
apparition  was  descried  in  a  sitting  posture,  and  hold- 
ing in  its  hand  what  seemed  a  flute.  This  phanton^ 
was  of  unusual  size,  and  of  beauty  more  than  human, 
BO  far  as  its  lineaments  could  be  traced  in  the  early 
dawn.  What  is  singular,  however,  in  the  story,  on 
any  hypothesis  which  would  explain  it  out  of  Caesar's 
individual  condition,  is,  that  others  saw  it  as  well  as  he  ; 
both  pastoral  laborers,  (who  were  present,  probably  in 
the  character  of  guides,)  and  some  of  the  sentinels 
stationed  at  the  passage  of  the  river.  These  men 
fancied  even  that  a  strain  of  music  issued  from  this 
aerial  flute.  And  some,  both  of  the  shepherds  and 
the  Roman  soldiers,  who  were  bolder  than  the  rest, 
advanced  towards  the  figure.  Amongst  this  party,  it 
happened  that  there  were  a  few  Roman  trumpeters. 
From  one  of  these,  the  phantom,  rising  as  they  ad- 
vanced nearer,  suddenly  caught  a  trumpet,  and  blow- 
ing through  it  a  blast  of  superhuman  strength,  plunged 
into  the  Rubicon,  passed  to  the  other  bank,  and  disap- 
peared in  the  dusky  twilight  of  the  dawn.  Upon 
which  Caesar  exclaimed  :  —  It  is  finished  —  the  die  is 
cast  —  let  us  follow  whither  the  guiding  portents  from 
Heaven,  and  the  malice  of  our  enemy,  alike  summon 
us  to  go.'  So  saying,  he  crossed  the  river  with  im- 
petuosity ;  and,  in  a  sudden  rapture  of  passionate  and 
rindictive  ambition,  placed   himself   and   his   retinu* 


THE    C^SAES.  41 

apon  tbe  Italian  soil ;  nnd,  as  if  by  inspiration  from 
Heaven,  in  one  moment  involved  himself  and  his  fol' 
lowers  in  treason,  raised  the  standard  of  revolt,  put 
his  foot  upon  the  neck  of  the  invincible  republic  which 
had  humbled  all  the  kings  of  the  earth,  and  founded 
an  empire  which  was  to  last  for  a  thousand  and  hali" 
a  thousand  years.  In  what  manner  this  spectral  ap- 
pearance was  managed  —  whether  Caesar  were  its 
author,  or  its  dupe  —  will  remain  unknown  for  ever. 
But  undoubtedly  this  was  the  first  time  that  the 
advan»,ed  ruard  of  a  victorious  army  was  headed  by 
an  apparition;  and  we  may  conjecture  that  it  ^vill 
be  the  last.^ 

In  tht  mingled  yai-n  of  human  life,  tragedy  is  never 
far  asundwf  from  farce  ;  and  it  is  amusing  to  retrace  in 
immediate  succession  to  this  incident  of  epic  dignity, 
which  has  ts  only  parallel  by  the  way  in  the  case  of 
Vasco  de  cJama,  (according  to  the  narrative  of  Ca- 
moens,)  wh^a  met  and  confronted  by  a  sea  phantom 
whilst  attempting  to  double  the  Cape  of  Storms, 
(Cape  of  Good  Hope,)  a  ludicrous  passage,  in  which 
one  felicitous  blunder  did  Caesar  a  better  service  than 
all  the  truths  which  Greece  and  Rome  could  have 
furnished.  In  our  own  experience,  we  once  witnessed 
%  blunder  about  as  gross,  The  present  Chancellor,  in 
his  first  electioneering  contest  with  the  Lowthers,  upon 
lome  occasion  where  he  was  recriminating  upon  the 
other  party,  and  complaining  that  stratagems,  whick 


j2  the  c^saks. 

they  might  practise  with  impunity,  were  demed  to  hiia 
and  his,  happened  to  point  the  moral  of  his  complaint, 
by  alleging  the  old  adage,  that  one  man  might  steal 
a  horse  with  more  hope  of  indulgence  than  another 
could  look  over  the  hedge.  Whereupon,  by  benefit 
of  the  universal  mis-hearing  in  the  outermost  ring 
of  the  audience,  it  became  generally  reported  that 
Lord  Lowther  had  once  been  engaged  in  an  afiair  of 
horse  stealing ;  and  that  he,  Henry  Brougham,  could 
(had  he  pleased)  have  lodged  an  information  against 
him,  seeing  that  he  was  then  looking  over  the  hedge. 
And  this  charge  naturally  won  the  more  credit,  be- 
cause it  was  notorious  and  past  denying  that  hia 
lordship  was  a  capital  horseman,  fond  of  horses,  and 
much  connected  with  the  turf.  To  this  hour,  there- 
fore, amongst  some  worthy  shepherds  and  others,  it  ia 
a  received  article  of  their  creed,  and  (as  they  justly 
observe  in  northern  pronunciation)  a  shamiul  thing 
to  be  told,  that  Lord  Lowther  was  once  a  horse 
stealer,  and  that  he  escaped  lagging  by  reason  of 
Harry  Brougham's  pity  for  his  tender  years  and  hope- 
ful looks.  Not  less  was  the  blunder,  which,  on  the 
banks  of  the  Rubicon,  befriended  Cspsar.  Imme- 
diately after  crossing,  he  harangued  the  troops  whom 
he  had  sent  forward,  and  others  who  there  met  him 
from  the  neighboring  garrison  of  Ariminium.  The 
tribunes  of  the  people,  those  great  officers  of  the 
democracy,  corresponding  by  some  of  their  function* 


THE    C^SABS.  48 

ja  our  House  of  Commons,  men  personally,  and  by 
their  position  in  the  state,  entii'ely  in  his  interest, 
and  who,  for  his  sake,  had  fled  from  home,  there 
and  then  he  produced  to  the  soldiery  ;  thus  identified 
his  cause,  and  that  of  the  soldiers,  with  the  cause  of 
the  people  of  Rome  and  of  Roman  liberty  :  and  per- 
haps with  needless  rhetoric  attempted  to  conciliate 
those  who  were  by  a  thousand  ties  and  by  claims 
innumerable,  his  own  already ;  for  never  yet  has  it 
been  found,  that  with  the  soldier,  who,  from  youth 
upwards,  passes  his  life  in  camps,  could  the  duties  or 
the  interests  of  citizens  survive  those  stronger  and 
more  personal  relations  connecting  him  with  his 
military  superior.  In  the  course  of  this  harangue, 
Caesar  often  raised  his  left  hand  with  Demosthenic 
action,  and  once  or  twice  he  drew  off  the  ring,  which 
every  Roman  gentleman  —  simply  as  such  —  wore  as 
the  inseparable  adjunct  and  symbol  of  his  rank.  By 
this  action  he  wished  to  give  emphasis  to  the  accom- 
panying words,  in  which  he  protested,  that,  sooner 
than  fail  in  satisfying  and  doing  justice  to  any  the 
least  of  those  who  heard  him  and  followed  his  for- 
tunes, he  would  be  content  to  part  with  his  own 
birthright,  and  to  forego  his  dearest  claims.  This 
was  what  he  really  said  ;  but  the  outermost  circles 
of  his  auditors,  who  rather  saw  his  gestures  than 
distinctly  heard  his  words,  earned  off  the  notion, 
'which    they    were    carefil     everywhere    to    disperse 


44  TH£    C^SABS. 

unongst  the  legions  afterwards  associated  with  them 
in  the  same  camps,)  that  Csesar  had  vowed  never  to 
lay  down  his  arms  until  he  had  obtained  for  every 
man,  the  very  meanest  of  those  who  heard  him,  tha 
rank,  privileges  and  appointments  of  a  Roman  knight 
Here  was  a  piece  of  sovereign  good  luck.  Had  he 
really  made  such  a  promise,  Csesar  might  have  found 
that  he  had  laid  himself  under  very  embarrassing 
obligations ;  but,  as  the  case  stood,  he  had,  through 
all  his  following  campaigns,  the  total  benefit  of  such  a 
promise,  and  yet  could  always  absolve  himself  from 
the  penalties  of  responsibility  which  it  imposed,  by 
appealing  to  the  evidence  of  those  who  ^appened  to 
stand  in  the  first  ranks  of  his  audience.  The  blunder 
was  gross  and  palpable;  and  yet,  with  the  unreflecting 
and  dull-witted  soldier,  it  did  him  service  greater  than 
all  the  subtilties  of  all  the  schools  could  have  accom- 
plished, and  a  service  which  subsisted  to  the  end  of 
the  war. 

Great  as  Csesar  was  by  the  benefit  of  his  original 
nature,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  he,  like  others, 
owed  something  to  circumstances  ;  and,  perhaps, 
amongst  those  which  were  most  favorable  to  the  pre- 
mature development  of  great  self-dependence,  we 
must  reckon  the  early  death  of  his  father.  It  is,  or 
t  is  not,  according  to  the  nature  of  men,  an  advan- 
tage to  be  orphaned  at  an  early  age.  Perhaps  uttei 
srphanage  is  rarely  or  never  such  :  but  to  lose  a  fathet 


TH£    C^SARS.  4fi 

Detimes  profits  a  strong  mind  greatly.  To  Caesar  it 
was  a  prodigious  benefit  that  he  lost  his  father  when 
not  much  more  than  fifteen.  Perhaps  it  was  an  ad- 
vantage also  to  his  father  that  he  died  thus  early. 
Had  he  stayed  a  year  longer,  he  would  have  seen 
nimself  despised,  baffled,  and  made  ridiculous.  For 
where,  let  us  ask,  in  any  age,  was  the  father  capable 
of  adequately  sustaining  that  relation  to  the  unique 
Caius  Julius  —  to  him,  in  the  appropriate  language 
of  Shakspcare, 

•  The  foremost  man  of  all  this  world  ? ' 
And,  in  this  fine  and  Cresarean  line,  '  this  world '  is 
to  be  understood  not  of  the  order  of  co-existences 
merely,  but  also  of  the  order  of  successions  ;  he  waa 
the  foremost  man  not  only  of  his  contemporaries,  but 
also  of  men  generally  —  of  all  that  ever  should  come 
after  him,  or  should  sit  on  thrones  under  the  denomi- 
nations of  Czars,  Kesars,  or  Caesars  of  the  Bosphorus 
and  the  Danube ;  of  all  in  every  age  that  should 
inherit  his  supremacy  of  mind,  or  should  subject  to 
themselves  the  generations  of  ordinary  men  by  quali- 
ties analogous  to  his.  Of  this  infinite  superiority 
some  part  must  be  ascribed  to  his  early  emancipation 
."rom  paternal  control.  There  are  very  many  cases  in 
which,  simply  from  considerations  of  sex,  a  female 
rannot  stand  forward  as  the  head  of  a  family,  or  as  its 
luitable  representative.  If  there  are  even  ladies  para- 
mount, and   in   situations   of  command,  they  are  also 


16  THE    C-ESARS. 

»romen.  The  staff  of  authority  does  not  annihilata 
their  sex ;  and  scruples  of  female  delicacy  interfere 
for  ever  to  unnerve  and  emasculate  in  their  hands  the 
sceptre  however  otherwise  potent.  Hence  we  see,  in 
noble  families,  the  merest  boys  put  forward  to  repre- 
sent the  family  dignity,  as  fitter  supporters  of  that 
burden  than  their  mature  mothers.  And  of  Caesar's 
mother,  though  little  is  recorded,  and  that  little  inci- 
dentally, this  much,  at  least,  we  learn  —  that,  if  she 
looked  down  upon  him  with  maternaP  pride  and  de- 
light, she  looked  up  to  him  with  female  ambition  as 
the  re-edifier  of  her  husband's  honors,  with  reverence 
as  to  a  column  of  the  Roman  grandeur,  and  with  fear 
and  feminine  anxieties  as  to  one  whose  aspiring  spirit 
carried  him  but  too  prematurely  into  the  fields  of 
adventurous  honor.  One  slight  and  evanescent  sketch 
of  the  relations  which  subsisted  between  Caesar  and 
his  mother,  caught  from  the  wrecks  of  time,  is  pre- 
served both  by  Plutarch  and  Suetonius.  We  see  in 
the  eai-ly  dawn  the  young  patrician  standing  upon  the 
Jteps  of  his  paternal  portico,  his  mother  with  her  arms 
wreathed  about  his  neck,  looking  up  to  his  noble 
countenance,  sometimes  drawing  auguries  of  hope 
from  features  so  fitted  for  command,  sometimes  boding 
an  early  blight  to  promises  so  prematurely  magnifi- 
cent. That  she  had'  something  of  her  son's  aspiring 
character,  or  that  he  presumed  so  much  in  a  mothei 
af  his,  we  learn  from  the  few  words  which  survive  o. 


THE    C^SABS.  47 

their  conversation.  He  addressed  to  her  no  language 
that  could  tranquillize  her  fears.  On  the  contrary,  to 
any  but  a  Roman  mother  his  valedictory  words,  taken 
in  connection  with  the  known  determination  of  hia 
character,  were  of  a  nature  to  consummate  her  de- 
pression, as  they  tended  to  confirm  the  very  worst  of 
her  fears.  He  was  then  going  to  stand  his  chance  in 
a  popular  election  for  an  office  of  dignity,  and  to 
launch  himself  upon  the  storms  of  the  Campus  Mar- 
tins. At  that  period,  besides  other  and  more  ordinary 
dangers,  the  bands  of  gladiators,  kept  in  the  pay  of 
the  more  ambitious  amongst  the  Roman  nobles,  gave 
a  popular  tone  of  ferocity  and  of  personal  risk  to  the 
course  of  such  contests  ;  and  either  to  forestall  the 
victory  of  an  antagonist,  or  to  avenge  their  own  defeat, 
it  was  not  at  all  impossible  that  a  body  of  incensed 
competitors  might  intercept  his  final  triumph  by  assas- 
sination. For  this  danger,  however,  he  had  no  leisure 
in  his  thoughts  of  consolation  ;  the  sole  danger  which 
he  contemplated,  or  supposed  his  mother  to  contem- 
plate,  was  the  danger  of  defeat,  and  for  that  he  re- 
served his  consolations.  He  bade  her  fear  nothing  ; 
for  that  without  doubt  he  would  return  with  victory, 
and  with  the  ensigns  of  'he  dignity  he  sought,  or 
would  rfturn  a  corpse. 

Early,  indeed,  did  Caesar**  orials  commence ;  and  it 
ifl  probable,  that,  had  not  the  death  of  his  fathei, 
by  throwing  him  prematurely  upon  his  own  resources, 


18  THE    C-KSARS, 

prematurely  developed  the  masculine  features  of  hiM 
character,  forcing  him  whilst  yet  a  boy  under  the 
discipline  of  civil  conflict  and  the  yoke  of  practical  life, 
even  his  enero^ies  would  have  been  insufficient  tn 
sustain  them.  His  age  is  not  exactly  ascertained, 
but  it  is  past  a  doubt  that  he  had  not  reached  his 
twentieth  year  when  he  had  the  hardihood  to  engage 
in  a  struggle  with  Sylla,  then  Dictator,  and  exercising 
the  immoderate  powers  of  that  oflSce  with  the  license 
and  the  severity  which  history  has  made  so  memorable. 
He  had  neither  any  distinct  grounds  of  hope,  nor  anj 
eminent  example  at  that  time,  to  countenance  him 
in  this  struggle  —  which  yet  he  pushed  on  in  the  most 
uncompromising  style,  and  to  the  utmost  verge  of 
defiance.  The  subject  of  the  contrast  gives  it  a  fur- 
ther interest.  It  was  the  youthful  wife  of  the  youthful 
CsBsar  who  stood  under  the  shadow  of  the  great 
Dictator's  displeasure  ;  not  personally,  but  politically, 
on  account  of  her  connections ;  and  her  it  was,  Cor- 
nelia, the  daughter  of  a  man  who  had  been  four  times 
consul,  that  Caesar  was  required  to  divorce  ;  but  he 
spurned  the  haughty  mandate,  and  carried  his  deter- 
mination to  a  triumphant  issue,  notwithstanding  his 
life  was  at  stake,  and  at  one  time  saved  only  by 
shifting  his  place  of  concealment  every  nigut ;  and 
this  young  lady  it  was  who  afterwards  became  the 
mother  of  his  only  daughter.  Both  mother  and 
daughter,  it  is  remarkable,  perished  prematurely,  au(f 


THE     C^SAKS.  49 

fct  critical  periods  of  Caesar's  life  ;  for  it  is  probable 
enough  that  these  irreparable  wounds  to  Caesar's  do- 
mestic affections  threw  him  with  more  exclusiveness 
of  devotion  upon  the  fascinations  of  glory  and  ambition 
than  might  have  happened  under  a  happier  condition 
of  his  private  life.  That  Caesar  "should  have  escaped 
destruction  in  this  unequal  contest  with  an  enemy  then 
wielding  the  whole  thunders  of  the  state,  is  somewhat 
surprising  ;  and  historians  have  sought  their  solution 
of  the  mystery  in  the  powerful  intercessions  of  the 
vestal  virgins,  and  several  others  of  high  rank  amongst 
the  connections  of  his  great  house.  These  may  have 
done  something ;  but  it  is  due  to  Sylla,  who  had 
a  sympathy  with  everything  truly  noble,  to  suppose 
him  struck  with  powerful  admiration  for  the  audacity 
of  the  young  patrician,  standing  out  in  such  severe 
solitude  among  so  many  examples  of  timid  concession ; 
and  that  to  this  magnanimous  feeling  in  the  Dictator, 
much  of  his  indulgence  was  due.  In  fact,  according 
to  some  accounts,  it  was  not  Sylla,  but  the  creatures  of 
Sylla  {adjutores'),  who  pursued  Ceesar.  We  know, 
at  all  events,  that  Sylla  formed  a  right  estimate  of 
Caesar's  character,  and  that,  from  the  complexion  of 
his  conduct  in  this  one  instance,  he  drew  his  famous 
prophecy  of  his  future  destiny  ;  bidding  his  friends 
beware  of  that  slipshod  boy,  '  for  that  in  him  lay 
couchant  many  a  Mirius.'  A  grander  testimony  to 
<he  awe  which  Caesar  inspired,  or  from  )ne  who  knew 


50  THE     CiESA.RS. 

better  the  qualities  of  that  man  by  whom  he  measured 
him,  cannot  be  imagined. 

It  is  not  our  intention,  or  consistent  with  our  plan, 
to  pursue  this  great  man  through  the  whole  circum- 
Btances  of  his  romantic  career ;  though  it  is  certain 
that  many  parts  of  his  life  require  investigation  much 
keener  than  has  ever  been  applied  to  them,  and  that 
many  might  easily  be  placed  in  a  new  light.  Indeed, 
the  whole  of  this  most  momentous  section  of  ancient 
history  ought  to  be  recomposed  with  the  critical  scep- 
ticism of  a  Niebuhr,  and  the  same  comprehensive 
collation  of  authorities.  In  reality  it  is  the  hinge  upon 
which  turned  the  future  destiny  of  the  whole  earth ; 
and  having  therefore  a  common  relation  to  all  modern 
nations  whatsoever,  should  naturally  have  been  culti- 
vated with  the  zeal  which  belongs  to  a  personal  con- 
cern. In  general,  the  anecdotes  which  express  most 
vividly  the  splendid  character  of  the  first  Caesar,  are 
those  which  illustrate  his  defiance  of  danger  in  ex- 
tremity ;  the  prodigious  energy  and  rapidity  of  his 
Jecisions  and  motions  in  the  field  ;  the  skill  with 
ivhich  he  penetrated  the  designs  of  his  enemies,  and 
.he  exemplary  speed  with  which  he  provided  a  remedy 
for  disasters ;  the  extraordinary  presence  of  mind 
which  he  showed  in  turning  adverse  omens  to  his  own 
advantage,  as  when,  upon  stumbling  in  coming  on 
■here,  (which  was  esteemed  a  capital  omen  of  evil,^ 
\ie  transfigured  as  it  were  in  one  instant  its  wholt 


THE    C^SARS.  61 

neaning  by  exclaiming,  '  Thus  do  I  take  posses- 
sion of  thee,  oh  Africa ! '  in  that  way  giving  to  an 
accident  the  semblance  of  a  symbolic  purpose  ;  the 
grandeur  of  fortitude  with  which  he  faced  the  whole 
extent  of  a  calamity  when  palliation  could  do  no  good, 
'  non  negando,  minuendove,  sed  insuper  amplificando, 
ementiendoque  ; '  as  when,  upon  finding  his  soldiery 
alarmed  at  the  approach  of  Juba,  with  forces  really 
great,  but  exaggerated  by  their  terrors,  he  addressed 
them  in  a  military  harangue  to  the  following  efiect : 
'  Know  that  within  a  few  days  the  king  will  come  up 
with  us,  bringing  with  him  sixty  thousand  legionaries, 
thirty  thousand  cavalry,  one  hundred  thousand  light 
troops,  besides  three  hundred  elephants.  Such  being 
the  case,  let  me  hear  no  more  of  conjectures  and 
opinions,  for  you  have  now  my  warrant  for  the  fact, 
whose  information  is  past  doubting.  Therefore,  be 
satisfied  ;  otherwise,  I  will  put  every  man  of  you  on 
board  some  crazy  old  fleet,  and  whistle  you  down  the 
tide  —  no  matter  under  what  winds,  no  matter  towards 
yhat  shore.'  Finally,  we  might  seek  for  the  char- 
acteristic anecdotes  of  Caesar  in  his  unexampled  liber- 
alities and  contempt  of  money. ^^ 

Upon  this  last  topic  it  is  the  just  remark  of 
Casaubon,  that  some  instances  of  (/sesar's  munificence 
Bave  been  thought  apocryphal,  or  to  rest  upon  false 
leadings,  simply  from  ignorance  of  th*"  heroic  scale 
ipon  which  the  Roman   splendors  of   that  age  pro- 


S2  THE    C^SABS. 

teeded.  A  forum  which  Caesar  bull  t  out  of  the  pro- 
ducts of  his  last  campaign,  by  way  cf  a  present  to  the 
Roman  people,  cost  him  —  for  the  gi'ound  merely  on 
which  it  stood  —  nearly  eight  •  hundred  thousand 
pounds.  To  the  citizens  of  Rome  (perhaps  300,000 
persons)  he  presented,  in  one  congiary,  about  two 
guineas  and  a  half  a  head.  To  his  army,  in  one 
donation,  upon,  the  termination  of  the  civil  war,  he 
gave  a  sum  which  allowed  about  two  hundred  pounds 
a  man  to  the  infanti-y,  and  four  hundred  to  the  cavalry. 
It  is  true  that  the  legionary  troops  were  then  much 
reduced  by  the  sword  of  the  enemy,  and  by  the 
tremendous  hardships  of  their  last  campaigns.  In  this, 
however,  he  did  perhaps  no  more  than  repay  a  debt. 
For  it  is  an  instance  of  military  attachment,  beyond  all 
that  Wallenstein  or  any  commander,  the  most  beloved 
amongst  his  troops,  has  ever  experienced,  that,  on  the 
breaking  out  of  the  civil  war,  not  only  did  the  cen- 
turions of  every  legion  severally  maintain  a  horsr 
soldier,  but  even  the  privates  volunteered  to  serve 
without  pay  —  £md  (what  might  seem  impossible)  with- 
out their  daily  rations.  This  was  accomplished  by 
subscriptions  amongst  themselves,  the  more  opulent 
undertaking  for  the  maintenance  of  the  needy.  Theii 
disinterested  love  for  Caesar  appeared  in  another  and 
more  difficult  illustration  ;  it  was  a  traditionary  anec- 
dote in  Rome,  that  the  majority  of  those  amongs* 
Caesar's  troops,  who  had  the  misfortune  to  fall  into  th« 


TH£    C^SABS.  58 

•neniy's  hands,  refused  to  accept  their  lives  under  the 
condition  of  serving  against  him. 

In  connection  with  this  subject  of  his  extraordinary 
munificence,  there  is  one  aspect  of  Caesar's  life  which 
has  suffered  much  from  the  misrepresentations  of  his- 
torians, and  that  is  —  the  vast  pecuniary  embarrass- 
ments under  which  he  labored,  until  the  profits  of  war 
had  turned  the  scale  even  more  prodigiously  in  hiH 
favor.  At  one  time  of  his  life,  when  appointed  to  a 
foreign  office,  so  numerous  and  so  clamorous  were  his 
creditors,  that  he  could  not  have  left  Rome  on  hia 
public  duties,  had  not  Crassus  come  forward  with 
assistance  in  money,  or  by  promises,  to  the  amount  of 
nearly  two  hundred  thousand  pounds.  And  at  another, 
he  was  accustomed  to  amuse  himself  with  computing 
how  much  money  it  would  require  to  make  him  worth 
exactly  nothing  {i,  e.  simply  to  clear  him  of  debts)  ; 
this,  by  one  account,  amounted  to  upwards  of  two 
millions  sterling.  Now  the  error  of  historians  has 
been  —  to  represent  these  debts  as  the  original  ground 
of  his  ambition  and  his  revolutionary  projects,  as  though 
the  desperate  condition  of  his  private  afiairs  had  sug- 
gested a  civil  war  to  his  calculations  as  the  best  oi 
only  mode  of  redressing  it.  But,  on  the  contrary,  his 
debts  were  the  product  of  his  ambition,  and  contracted 
from  first  to  last  in  the  service  of  his  political  intrigues, 
lor  raising  and  maintaimng  a  powerful  body  of  par- 
tisans,  both  in    Rome    and    elsewhere.      Whosoever 


54  THE    C^SARS. 

indeed,  will  take  the  trouble  to  investigate  the  progress 
of  CsBsai-'s  ambition,  from  such  materials  as  even  yet 
remain,  may  satisfy  himself  that  the  scheme  of  rev- 
olutionizing the  Republic,  and  placing  himself  at  its 
head,  was  no  growth  of  accident  or  circumstances  ; 
above  all,  that  it  did  not  arise  upon  any  so  petty  and 
indirect  an  occasion  as  that  of  his  debts  ;  but  that 
his  debts  were  in  their  very  first  origin  purely  min- 
isterial to  his  ambition  ;  and  that  his  revolutionary 
plans  were  at  all  periods  of  his  life  a  direct  and  fore- 
most object.  In  this  there  was  in  reality  no  want  of 
patriotism  ;  it  had  become  evident  to  every-body  that 
Rome,  under  its  present  constitution,  must  fall ;  and 
the  sole  question  was  —  by  whom  ?  Even  Pompey, 
not  by  nature  of  an  aspiring  turn,  and  prompted  to  his 
ambitious  course  undoubtedly  by  circumstances  and 
the  friends  who  besieged  him,  was  in  the  habit  of  say- 
ing, '  Sylla  potuit,  ego  non  potero  ?  '  And  the  fact 
was,  that  if,  from  the  death  of  Sylla,  Rome  recovered 
some  transient  show  of  constitutional  integrity,  that 
happened  not  by  any  lingering  virtue  that  remained  in 
her  republican  forms,  but  entirely  through  the  equi- 
'ibrium  and  mechanical  counterpoise  of  rival  factions. 
in  a  case,  therefore,  where  no  benefit  of  choice  was 
allowed  to  Rome  as  to  the  thing,  but  only  as  to  the 
oerson  —  where  a  revolution  was  certain,  and  the  point 
».eft  open  to  doubt  simply  by  whom  that  revolutiop 
ihould  be  accomplished —  Caesar  had  (to  say  the  least 


THE    CJESJlRS.  ^  55 

rhe  same  nght  to  enter  the  arena  in  the  character  of 
candidate  as  could  belong  to  any  one  of  his  rivals 
And  that  he  did  enter  that  ai'ena  constructively,  and 
by  secret  design,  from  his  very  earliest  manhood,  may 
be  gathered  from  this  —  that  he  suffered  no  openings 
towards  a  revolution,  provided  they  had  any  hope 
in  them,  to  escape  his  participation.  It  is  familiarly 
known  that  he  was  engaged  pretty  deeply  in  the  con- 
«piracy  of  Catiline, ^'  and  that  he  incurred  considerable 
risk  on  that  occasion ;  but  it  is  less  known,  and  has 
indeed  escaped  the  notice  of  historians  generjilly,  that 
ne  was  a  party  to  at  least  two  other  conspiracies. 
There  was  even  a  fourth  meditated  by  Crassus,  which 
Caesar  so  far  encouraged  as  to  undertake  a  journey  to 
Rome  from  a  very  distant  quarter,  merely  with  a  view 
to  such  chances  as  it  might  offer  to  him  ;  but  as  it  did 
not,  upon  examination,  seem  to  him  a  very  promising 
scheme,  he  judged  it  best  to  look  coldly  upon  it,  or  not 
to  embark  in  it  by  any  personal  co-operation.  Upon 
these  and  other  facts  we  build  our  inference  —  that  the 
scheme  of  a  revolution  was  the  one  great  purpose  of 
Caesar,  from  his  first  entrance  upon  public  life.  Nor 
does  it  appear  that  he  cared  much  by  whom  it  was 
undertaken,  provided  only  there  seemed  to  be  any 
sufficient  resources  for  carrying  it  through,  and  for 
lustaining  the  fir  >t  collision  with  the  regular  forces  of 
ihe  existing  government.  He  relied,  it  seems,  on  his 
»wn  personal  superiority  for  raising  him  to  the  head  of 


56  THE    CiBSARS. 

affairs  eventually,  let  who  would  take  the  nominal  leac 
at  first.  To  the  same  result,  it  will  be  found,  tended 
the  vast  stream  of  Caesar's  liberalities.  From  the 
senator  downwards  to  the  lowest  feex  Romvli,  he  had 
a  hired  body  of  dependents,  both  in  and  out  of  Rome, 
equal  in  numbers  to  a  nation.  In  the  provinces,  and 
in  distant  kingdoms,  he  pursued  the  same  schemes. 
Everywhere  he  had  a  body  of  mercenary  partisans ; 
kings  are  known  to  have  taken  his  pay.  And  it  \» 
remarkable  that  even  in  his  character  of  commander-in- 
chief,  where  the  number  of  legions  allowed  to  him  for 
the  accomplishment  of  his  mission  raised  him  for  a 
number  of  years  above  all  fear  of  coercion  or  control, 
he  persevered  steadily  in  the  same  plan  of  providing 
for  the  day  when  he  might  need  assistance,  not  from 
the  state,  but  against  the  state.  For  amongst  the 
private  anecdotes  which  came  to  light  under  the  re- 
searches made  into  his  history  after  his  death,  was 
this  —  that,  soon  after  his  first  entrance  upon  his  gov- 
ernment in  Gaul,  he  had  raised,  equipped,  disciplined, 
and  maintained  from  his  own  private  funds,  a  legion 
amounting,  perhaps,  to  six  or  seven  thousand  men, 
who  were  bound  by  no  sacrament  of  military  obedience 
to  the  state,  nor  owed  fealty  to  any  auspices  except 
;hose  of  Caesar.  This  legion,  from  the  fashion  of  their 
tTCSted  helmets,  which  resembled  the  crested  heads  of 
ft  small  bird  of  the  lark  species,  received  the  populai 
aame  of  the  Alauda  (or  Lark)  legion.     And  veiy  sin* 


THE    CJESARS.  67 

gulai  it  -was  that  Cato,  or  Marcellus,  or  some  a-mongst 
those  enemies  of  Caesar,  who  watched  his  conduct 
during  the  period  of  his  Gaulish  command  with  the 
vigilance  of  rancorous  malice,  should  not  have  come  to 
the  knowledge  of  this  fact ;  in  which  case  we  may  be 
Bure  that  it  would  have  been  denounced  to  the  senate. 
Such,  then,  for  its  purpose  and  its  uniform  motive, 
was  the  sagacious  munificence  of  Caesar.  Apart  from 
this  motive,  and  considered  in  and  for  itself,  and  sim- 
ply with  a  reference  to  the  splendid  forms  which  it 
often  assumed,  this  munificence  would  furnish  the 
materials  for  a  volume.  The  public  entertainments  of 
Caesar,  his  spectacles  and  shows,  his  naumachise,  and 
the  pomps  of  his  unrivalled  triumphs,  (the  closing  tri- 
umphs of  the  Republic,)  were  severally  the  finest  of 
their  kind  which  had  then  been  brought  forward. 
Sea-fights  were  exhibited  upon  the  grandest  scale,  ac- 
cording to  every  known  variety  of  nautical  equipment 
and  mode  of  confiict,  upon  a  vast  lake  formed  artifici- 
ally for  that  express  purpose.  Mimic  land-fights  were 
conducted,  in  which  all  the  circumstances  of  real  war 
were  so  faithfully  reheai'sed,  that  even  elephants  '  in- 
dorsed with  towers,'  twenty  on  each  side,  took  part  in 
the  combat.  Dramas  were  represented  in  every  known 
language,  {per  omnium  ling^iarum  histriones.)  And 
hence  [that  is,  from  the  conciliatory  feeling  thus  ex- 
pressed towards  the  various  tribea  of  foreigners  resi- 
dent in  Rome]  some  have  derived  an   explanation  of 


58  THE    C^SARb. 

what  is  else  a  mysterious  circumstance  amongst  the 
ceremonial  observances  at  Caesar's  funeral  —  that  al* 
people  of  foreign  nations  then  residing  at  Rome,  <lis- 
tinguished  themselves  by  the  conspicuous  share  which 
they  took  in  the  public  mourning;  and  that,  beyond 
»11  other  foreigners,  the  Jews  for  night  after  night  kept 
watch  and  ward  about  the  emperor's  grave.  Never 
before,  according  to  traditions  which  lasted  through 
several  generations  in  Rome,  had  there  been  so  vast  a 
conflux  of  the  human  race  congregated  to  any  one 
centre,  on  any  one  attraction  of  business  or  of  pleasure, 
as  to  Rome  on  occasion  of  these  spectacles  exhibited 
by  Caesar. 

In  our  days,  the  greatest  occasional  gatherings  of 
the  human  race  are  in  India,  especially  at  the  great 
fair  of  the  Hurdwar,  in  the  northern  part  of  Hindos- 
tan  ;  a  confluence  of  many  millions  is  sometimes  seen 
at  that  spot,  brought  together  under  the  mixed  influ- 
ences of  devotion  and  commercial  business,  and  dis- 
persed as  rapidly  as  they  had  been  convoked.  Some 
such  "spectacle  of  nations  crowding  upon  nations,  and 
Bome  such  Babylonian  confusion  of  dresses,  complex- 
ions, languages,  and  jargons,  was  then  witnessed  at 
Rome.  Accommodations  within  doors,  and  under 
roofs  of  houses,  or  of  temples,  was  altogether  impos- 
Bible.  Myriads  encamped  along  the  streets,  and  along 
the  high-roads  in  the  vicinity  of  Rome.  Myriads  of 
Hyriads  lay  stretched  on  the  ground,  without  even  th« 


THE    CjESABS.  59 

•light  protection  of  tents,  in  a  'vast  circuit  about  the 
city.  Multitudes  of  men,  even  senators,  and  others 
of  the  highest  rank,  were  trampled  to  death  in  the 
crowds.  And  the  wl  ole  family  of  man  seemed  at  that 
time  gathered  together  at  the  bidding  of  the  great 
Dictafor.  But  these,  or  any  other  themes  connected 
with  the  public  life  of  Caesar,  we  notice  only  in  those' 
circumstances  which  have  been  overlooked,  or  partially 
.•epresented  by  historians.  Let  us  now,  in  conclusion, 
bring  forward,  from  the  obscurity  in  which  they  have 
hitherto  lurked,  the  anecdotes  which  describe  the 
habits  of  his  private  life,  his  tastes,  and  personal 
peculiarities. 

In  person,  he  was  tall,'^  fair,  and  of  limbs  distin- 
guished for  their  elegant  proportions  and  gracility. 
His  eyes  were  black  and  piercing.  These  circum- 
stances continued  to  be  long  remembered,  and  no 
doubt  were  constantly  recalled  to  the  eyes  of  all  per- 
sons in  the  imperial  palaces,  by  pictures,  busts,  and 
statues;  for  we  find  the  same  description  of  his  per- 
sonal appearance  three  centuries  afterwards,  in  a  work 
of  the  Emperor  Julian's.  He  was  a  most  accomplished 
Norseman,  and  a  master  {peritissimus)  in  the  use  of 
arms.  But  notwithstanding  his  skill  and  horseman- 
ihip,  it  seems  that,  when  he  accompanied  his  army  on 
marches,  he  walked  oftener  than  he  rode ;  no  doubt, 
with,  a  view  to  the  benefi''  of  his  example,  and  to 
•xpress  that  sympathy  with  his  soldiers  which  gained 


60  THE    C^SAKS. 

him  their  hearts  so  entirely.  On  other  occasions 
when  travelling  apart  from  his  army,  he  seems  more 
frequently  to  have  rode  in  a  carriage  than  on  horse- 
back. His  purpose,  in  making  this  preference,  must 
have  been  with  a  view  to  the  transport  of  luggage. 
The  carriage  which  he  generally  used  was  a  rheda,  a 
Bort  of  gig,  or  rather  curricle,  for  it  was  a  four-wheeled 
carriage,  and  adapted  (as  we  find  from  the  imperial 
regulations  for  the  public  carriages,  &c.)  to  the  con- 
veyance of  about  half  a  ton.  The  mere  personal 
baggage  which  Caesar  carried  with  him,  was  probably 
considerable,  for  he  was  a  man  of  the  most  elegant 
habits,  and  in  all  parts  of  his  life  sedulously  attentive 
to  elegance  of  personal  appearance.  The  length  of 
journeys  which  he  accomplished  within  a  given  time, 
appears  even  to  us  at  this  day,  and  might  well  there- 
fore appear  to  his  contemporaries,  truly  astonishing. 
A  distance  of  one  hundred  miles  was  no  extraordinary 
day's  journey  for  him  in  a  rheda,  such  as  we  have 
described  it.  So  elegant  were  his  habits,  and  so  con- 
stant his  demand  for  the  luxurious  accommodations  of 
polished  life,  as  it  then  existed  in  Rome,  that  he  is 
said  to  have  carried  with  him,  as  indispensable  parts  of 
his  personal  baggage,  the  little  luzenges  and  squares 
of  ivory,  and  other  costly  materials,  which  were  want- 
ed for  the  tessellated  flooring  of  his  tent  Habits  such 
AS  these  will  easily  account  for  his  travelling  in  a  car 
riage  rather  than  on  horseback. 


THE    C^SABS.  61 

The  courtesy  and  obliging  disposition  of  Caesar  were 
notorious,  and  both,  were  illustrated  in  some  anecdotes 
which  survived  for  generations  in  Rome.  Dining  on 
one  occasion  at  a  table,  where  the  servants  had  inad- 
vertently, for  salad-oil  furnished  some  sort  of  coarse 
lamp-oil,  Caesar  would  not  allow  the  rest  of  the  com- 
pany tc  point  out  the  mistake  to  their  host,  for  fear  of 
shocking  him  too  much  by  exposing  the  mistake.  At 
another  time,  whilst  halting  at  a  little  cabaret,  when 
one  of  his  retinue  was  suddenly  taken  ill,  Caesar 
resigned  to  his  use  the  sole  bed  which  the  house 
afforded.  Incidents  as  trifling  as  these,  express  the 
urbanity  of  Caesar's  nature ;  and,  hence,  one  is  more 
surprised  to  find  the  alienation  of  the  senate  charged, 
in  no  trifling  degree,  upon  a  failure  in  point  of  coxir- 
tesy.  Csesar  neglected  to  rise  from  his  seat  on  their 
approaching  him  in  a  body  with  an  address  of  congrat- 
ulation. It  is  said,  and  we  can  believe  it,  that  he  gave 
deeper  offence  by  this  one  defect  in  a  matter  of  cere- 
monial observance,  than  by  all  his  substantial  attacks 
upon  their  privileges.  What  we  find  it  difficult  to 
believe,  however,  is  not  that  result  from  the  offence, 
but  the  possibility  of  the  offence  itself,  from  one  so 
little  arrogant  as  Caesar,  and  so  entirely  a  man  of  the 
world.  He  was  told  of  the  disgust  which  he  had 
given,  and  we  are  bound  tc  believe  his  apology,  in 
which  he  charged  it  upon  sirkncss,  whict  would  not 
t  tJic  moment  allow  him  to  maintain  u  standing:  atti 


62  THE    CJBSARS. 

tude.  Certainly  the  whole  tenor  of  his  life  was  not 
courteous  only,  but  kind ;  and,  to  his  enemies,  merci- 
ful in  a  degree  which  implied  so  much  more  magnani- 
mity than  men  in  general  could  understand,  that  by 
many  it  was  put  down  to  the  account  of  weakness. 

"Weakness,  however,  there  was  none  in  Caius  Caesar : 
and,  that  there  might  be  none,  it  was  fortunate  that 
conspiracy  should  have  cut  him  off  in  the  full  vigor  of 
his  faculties,  in  the  very  meridian  of  his  glory,  and  on 
the  brink  of  completing  a  series  of  gigantic  achieve- 
ments. Amongst  these  are  numbered  —  a  digest  of 
the  entire  body  of  the  laws,  even  then  become  un- 
wieldy and  oppressive ;  the  establishment  of  vast  and 
comprehensive  public  libraries,  Greek  as  well  as  Latin  ; 
the  chastisement  of  Dacia  ;  the  conquest  of  Parthia ; 
and  the  cutting  a  ship  canal  through  the  Isthmus  of 
Corinth.  The  reformation  of  the  calendar  he  had 
already  accomplished.  And  of  all  his  projects  it  may 
be  said  that  they  were  equally  patriotic  in  their  pur- 
pose, and  colossal  in  their  proportions. 

As  an  orator,  Caesar's  merit  was  so  eminent,  that, 
according  to  the  general  belief,  had  he  found  time  to 
cultivate  this  department  of  civil  exertion,  the  precise 
supremacy  of  Cicero  would  have  been  made  question- 
able, or  the  honors  would  have  been  divided.  Cicero 
himself  was  of  that  opinion ;  and  on  different  occasions 
applied  the  epithet  Splendidus  to  Caesar,  as  though  in 
aome  exclusive  sense,  or  with  a  peculiar  emphasis,  due 


THE    CJESABS.  69 

to  him.  His  taste  was  much  simpler,  chaster,  and 
disinclined  to  the  Jlorid  and  ornamental,  than  that  of 
Cicero.  So  far  he  would,  in  that  condition  of  the 
Roman  culture  and  feeling,  have  been  less  acceptable 
to  the  public ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  he  would  have 
compensated  this  disadvantage  by  much  more  of  natu- 
ral and  Demosthenic  fervor. 

In  literature,  the  merits  of  Caesar  are  familiar  to 
most  readers.  Under  the  modest  title  of  Commen- 
taries, he  meant  to  offer  the  records  of  his  Gallic  and 
British  campaigns,  simply  as  notes,  or  memoranda, 
afterwards  to  be  worked  up  by  regular  historians ;  but, 
as  Cicero  observes,  their  merit  was  such  in  the  eyes  of 
the  discerning,  that  all  judicious  writers  shrank  from 
the  attempt  to  alter  them.  In  another  instance  of  his 
literary  labors,  he  showed  a  very  just  sense  of  true 
dignity.  Rightly  conceiving  that  everything  patriotic 
was  dignified,  and  that  to  illustrate  or  polish  his  native 
language,  was  a  service  of  real  patriotism,  he  composed 
a  work  on  the  grammar  and  orthoepy  of  the  Latin 
language.  Cicero  and  himself  were  the  only  Romans 
of  distinction  in  that  age,  who  applied  themselves  with 
tnie  patriotism  to  the  task  of  purifying  and  ennobling 
their  mother  tongue.  Both  were  aware  of  the  tran- 
Bcendent  quality  of  the  Grecian  literature ;  but  that 
kplendor  did  not  depress  their  hopes  of  raising  their 
vwn  to  something  of  the  same  level.  As  respected 
the   natural  wealth   of  the  two  languages,  it  was  the 


64  THE    C^SAES. 

private  opinion  of  Cicero,  that  the  Latin  had  the  ad- 
vantage ;  and  if  Caesar  did  not  accompany  him  to  that 
length,  he  yet  felt  that  it  was  but  the  more  necessary 
to  draw  forth  any  single  advantage  which  it  really 
had." 

Was  Caesar ,  upon  the  whole,  the  greatest  of  men  ? 
Dr.  Beattie  once  observed,  that  if  that  question  were 
left  to  be  collected  from  the  suffrages  already  express- 
ed in  books,  and  scattered  throughout  the  literature 
of  all  nations,  the  scale  would  be  found  to  have  turned 
prodigiously  in  Caesar's  favor,  as  against  any  single 
competitor ;  and  there  is  no  doubt  whatsoever,  that 
even  amongst  his  own  countrymen,  and  his  own  con- 
temporaries, the  same  verdict  would  have  been  re- 
turned, had  it  been  collected  upon  the  famous  principle 
of  Themistocles,  that  he  should  be  reputed  the  first, 
whom  the  greatest  number  of  rival  voices  had  pro- 
nounced the  second. 


THE    C^SAKS.  M 


CHAPTER  II. 

The  situation  of  the  Second  Caesar,  at  the  crisis  cf 
the  great  Dictator's  assassination,  was  so  hazardoug 
and  delicate,  as  to  confer  interest  upon  a  character 
not  otherwise  attractive.  To  many  we  know  it  was 
positively  repulsive,  and  in  the  very  highest  degree. 
In  particular,  it  is  recorded  of  Sir  William  Jones,  that 
he  regarded  this  emperor  with  feelings  of  abhorrence 
80  personal  and  deadly,  as  to  refuse  him  his  customary 
titular  honors  whenever  he  had  occasion  to  mention 
him  by  name.  Yet  it  was  the  whole  Roman  people 
that  conferred  upon  him  his  title  of  Augustus.  But 
Sir  William,  ascribing  no  force  to  the  acts  of  a  people 
who  had  sunk  so  low  as  to  exult  in  their  chains,  and 
to  decorate  with  honors  the  very  instruments  of  their 
own  vassalage,  would  not  recognize  this  popular  cre- 
ation, and  spoke  of  him  always  by  his  family  name 
of  Octavius.  The  flattery  of  the  populace,  by  the 
way,  must,  in  this  instance,  have  been  doubly  accept- 
able to  the  emperor,  first,  for  what  it  gave,  and 
secondly,  for  what  it  concealed.  Of  his  grand-uncle 
the  first  Caesar,  a  tradition  survives  —  that  of  all  the 
distinctions  created  in  his  favor,  either  by  the  senate 
or  the  people,  he    put   most  value   upon   the   laureJ 


Bfi  THE    CMBASiS. 

crown  which  was  voted  to  him  after  his  last  campaigna 
«—  a  beautiful  and  conspicuous  memorial  to  every  eye 
of  his  great  public  acts,  and  at  the  same  time  an 
overshadowing  veil  of  his  one  sole  personal  defect. 
This  laurel  diadem  at  once  proclaimed  his  civic  gran- 
deur, and  concealed  his  baldness,  a  defect  which  was 
more  mortifying  to  a  Roman  than  it  would  be  to 
ourselves  from  the  peculiar  theory  which  then  pre- 
vailed as  to  its  probable  origin.  A  gratitude  of  the 
same  mixed  quality  must  naturally  have  been  felt  by 
the  Second  Caesar  for  his  title  of  Augustus,  which, 
whilst  it  illustrated  his  public  character  by  the  highest 
expression  of  majesty,  set  apart  and  sequestrated  to 
public  functions,  had  also  the  agreeable  effect  of  with- 
drawing from  the  general  remembrance  his  obscure 
descent.  For  the  Octavian  house  \_gens'\  had  in 
neither  of  its  branches  risen  to  any  great  splendor 
of  civic  distinction,  and  in  his  own,  to  little  or  none. 
The  same  titular  decoration,  therefore,  so  offensive  to 
the  celebrated  Whig,  was,  in  the  eyes  of  Augustus,  at 
once  a  trophy  of  public  merit,  a  monument  of  public 
gratitude,  and  an  effectual  obliteration  of  his  own  natal 
obscurity. 

But,  if  merely  odious  to  men  of  Sir  William's  prin- 
ciples,  to  others  the  character  of  Augustus,  in  relation 
to  the  circumstances  which  surrounded  him,  was  not 
without  its  appropriate  interest.  He  was  summoned 
in  early  youth,  and  without  warning,  to  face  a  crisit 


THE    C^SABS.  67 

jf  tremendous  hazard,  being  at  the  same  time  himself 
k  man  of  no  very  great  constitutional  courage  ;  perhaps 
be  was  even  a  coward.  And  this  we  say  without 
meaning  to  adopt  as  gospel  truths  all  the  party  re- 
proaches of  Anthony.  Certainly  he  was  utterly  unfur- 
nished by  nature  with  those  endowments  which  seemed 
to  be  indispensable  in  a  successor  to  the  power  of  the 
gi'eat  Dictator.  But  exactly  in  these  deficiencies,  and 
in  certain  accidents  unfavorable  to  his  ambition,  lay 
his  security.  He  had  been  adopted  by  his  grand- 
uncle,  Julius.  That  adoption  made  him,  to  all  intents 
and  purposes  of  law,  the  son"  of  his  great  patron  ;  and 
doubtless,  in  a  short  time,  this  adoption  would  have 
been  applied  to  more  extensive  uses,  and  as  a  station 
of  vantage  for  introducing  him  to  the  public  favor. 
From  the  inheritance  of  the  Julian  estates  and  family 
honors,  he  would  have  been  trained  to  mount,  as  from 
a  stepping-stone,  to  the  inheritance  of  the  Julian 
power  and  political  station  ;  and  the  Roman  people 
would  have  been  familiarized  to  regard  him  in  that 
character.  But,  luckily  for  himself,  the  finishing,  or 
ceremonial  acts,  were  yet  wanting  in  this  process  — 
the  political  heirship  was  inchoate  and  imperfect. 
Tacitly  understood,  indeed,  it  was  ;  but  had  it  been 
formally  proposed  and  ratified,  there  cannot  be  a  doubt 
that  the  young  Octavius  would  have  been  pointed  out 
to  the  vengeance  of  the  patriots,  and  included  in  the 
ichemc  of  the  conspirators,  as  a  fellow-victim  with  hij 


SS  THE    C^SAKS. 

nominal  father;  and  would  have  been  cut  off  too  sud- 
denly to  benefit  by  that  re-ac  rion  of  popular  feeling 
which  saved  the  partisans  of  the  Dictator,  by  separat- 
ing the  conspirators,  and  obliging  them,  without  loss 
of  time,  to  look  to  their  own  safety.  It  was  by  this 
fortunate  accident  that  the  young  heir  and  adopted  son 
of  the  first  Caesar  not  only  escaped  assassination,  but 
was  enabled  to  postpone  indefinitely  the  final  and 
military  struggle  for  the  vacant  seat  of  empire,  and 
in  the  meantime  to  maintain  a  coequal  rank  with  the 
leaders  in  the  state,  by  those  arts  and  resources  ir. 
which  he  was  superior  to  his  competitors.  His  place 
in  the  favor  of  Caius  Julius  was  of  power  sufiicient  to 
give  him  a  share  in  any  triumvirate  which  could  be 
formed  ;  but,  wanting  the  formality  of  a  regular  intro- 
duction to  the  people,  and  the  ratification  of  theii 
acceptance,  that  place  was  not  sufficient  to  raise  him 
permanently  into  the  perilous  and  invidious  station  of 
absolute  supremacy  which  he  afterwards  occupied. 
The  felicity  of  Augustus  was  often  vaunted  by  an- 
tiquity, (with  whom  success  was  not  so  much  a  test 
of  merit  as  itself  a  merit  of  the  highest  quality,)  and 
in  no  instance  was  this  felicity  more  conspicuous  than 
in  the  first  act  of  his  entrance  upon  the  political  scene. 
No  doubt  his  friends  and  enemies  alike  thought  o* 
aim,  at  the  moment  of  Caesar's  assassination,  as  we 
now  think  of  a  young  man  heir-elect  to  some  person 
of  immense  wealth,  cut  oflf  by  a  sudde  q  death  before 


THE    C.ESA.BS.  69 

te  has  nad  iime  to  ratify  a  will  in  execution  of  hi» 
purposes.  Yet  in  fact  the  case  was  far  otherwise. 
Brought  forward  distinctly  as  the  successor  of  Caesar's 
power,  had  he  even,  by  some  favorable  accident  of 
absence  from  Rome,  or  otherwise,  escaped  being  in- 
volved in  that  great  man's  fate,  he  would  at  all  events 
have  been  thrown  upon  the  instant  necessity  of  de- 
fending his  supreme  station  by  arms.  To  have  left  it 
unasserted,  when  once  solemnly  created  in  his  favor 
by  a  reversionai'y  title,  would  have  been  deliberately 
to  resign  it.  This  would  have  been  a  confession  of 
weakness  liable  to  no  disguise,  and  ruinous  to  any 
subsequent  pretensions.  Yet,  without  preparation  of 
means,  with  no  development  of  resources  nor  growth 
of  circumstances,  an  appeal  to  arms  would,  in  his  case, 
have  been  of  very  doubtful  issue.  His  true  weapons, 
for  a  long  period,  were  the  arts  of  vigilance  and  dis- 
simulation. Cultivating  these,  he  was  enabled  to  pre- 
pare for  a  contest  which,  undertaken  prematurely,  must 
have  ruined  him,  and  to  raise  himself  to  a  station  of 
even  military  preeminence  to  those  who  naturally,  and 
by  circumstances,  were  originally  every  way  superior 
to  himself. 

The  qualities  in  which  he  really  excelled,  the  gifts 
of  intrigue,  patience,  long  suffering,  dissimulation,  and 
tortuous  fraud,  were  thus  brought  into  play,  and 
allowed  their  full  value.  Such  qualities  bad  every 
chance  of  prevailing  in  the  long  run,  against  the  aaible 


7&  THE    C.tSAUS. 

carelessness  and  the  impetuosity  of  the  passionate 
Anthony  —  and  they  did  prevail.  Always  on  the 
watch  to  lay  hold  of  those  opportunities  which  the 
geiiCrous  negligence  of  his  rival  was  but  too  frequentlj 
throwing  in  his  way  —  unless  by  the  sudden  reversal 
of  war  and  the  accidents  of  battle,  which  as  much  aa 
possible,  and  as  long  as  possible,  he  declined  - —  there 
could  be  little  question  in  any  man's  mind,  that 
eventually  he  would  win  his  way  to  a  solitary  throne, 
by  a  policy  so  full  of  caution  and  subtlety.  He  was 
sure  to  risk  nothing  which  could  be  had  on  easier 
terms  ;  and  nothing  unless  for  a  great  overbalance  of 
gain  in  prospect ;  to  lose  nothing  which  he  had  once 
gained ;  and  in  no  case  to  miss  an  advantage,  or  sacri- 
fice an  opportunity,  by  any  consideration  of  gene- 
rosity. No  modern  insurance  office  but  would  have 
guaranteed  an  event  depending  upon  the  final  success 
of  Augustus,  on  terms  far  below  those  which  they 
must  in  prudence  have  exacted  from  the  fiery  and 
adventurous  Anthony.  Each  was  an  ideal  in  his  own 
class.  But  Augustus,  having  finally  triumphed,  has 
met  with  more  than  justice  from  succeeding  ages. 
Even  Lord  Bacon  says,  that,  by  comparison  with 
Julius  Caesar,  he  was  '  non  tarn  impar  quam  dispar,' 
•lu^ly  a  most  extravagant  encomium,  applied  to  whom- 
loever.  On  the  other  hand,  Anthony,  amongst  the 
most  signal  misfortunes  of  his  life,  might  number  it 
that  Cicero,   the   great    dispenser   of   immortality,   ij 


THE    CASAR8.  7i 

whose  hands  (more  perhaps  than  in  any  one  man's  of 
my  age)  were  the  vials  of  good  and  evil  fame,  should 
happen  to  have  heen  his  bitter  and  persevering  enemy. 
It  is,  however,  some  balance  to  this,  that  Shakspeare 
had  a  just  conception  of  the  original  grandeur  which 
l^y  beneath  that  wild  tempestuous  nature  presented  by 
Anthony  to  the  eye  of  the  undiscriminating  world.  It 
is  to  the  honor  of  Shakspeare  that  he  should  have  been 
able  to  discern  the  true  coloring  of  this  most  original 
character  under  the  smoke  and  tarnish  of  antiquity. 
It  is  no  less  to  the  honor  of  the  great  triumvir,  that  a 
strength  of  coloring  should  survive  in  his  character, 
capable  of  baffling  the  wrongs  and  ravages  of  time. 
Neither  is  it  to  be  thought  strange  that  a  character 
should  have  been  misund'  rstood  and  falsely  appreciated 
for  nearly  two  thousand  years.  It  happens  not  uncom- 
monly, especially  amongst  an  unimaginative  people, 
like  the  Romans,  that  the  characters  of  men  are 
ciphers  and  enigmas  to  their  own  age,  and  are  first 
read  and  interpreted  by  a  far  distant  posterity.  Stars 
are  supposed  to  exist,  whose  light  has  been  travelling 
or  many  thousands  of  years  without  having  yet 
reached  our  system ;  and  the  eyes  are  yet  unborn 
upon  which  their  earliest  ravs  will  fall.  Men  like 
Mark  Anthony,  with  minds  of  chaotic  composition  — 
light  conflicting  Nvith  darkness,  proportions  of  colossal 
(grandeur  disfigured  by  nnsymmetrical  arrangement, 
the  angelic  in  close  neighborhood  with  the  brutal  —  ar« 


i2  THE    C^SABS. 

first  read  in  their  true  meaning  by  an  age  learned  in 
the  philosophy  of  the  human  heart.  Of  this  philosophy 
the  Romans  had,  by  the  necessities  of  education  anc* 
domestic  discipline,  not  less  than  by  original  constitu- 
tion of  mind,  the  very  narrowest  visual  range.  In  no 
literature  whatsoever  are  so  few  tolerable  notices  to  be 
found  of  any  great  truths  in  Psychology.  Nor  could 
this  have  been  otherwise  amongst  a  people  who  tried 
everything  by  the  standard  of  social  value  ;  never 
seeking  for  a  canon  of  excellence,  in  man  considered 
abstractedly  in  and  for  himself,  and  as  having  an 
independent  value  —  but  always  and  exclusively  in 
man  as  a  gregarious  being,  and  designed  for  social  uses 
and  functions.  Not  man  in  his  own  peculiar  nature, 
but  man  in  his  relations  to  other  men,  was  the  station 
from  which  the  Roman  speculators  took  up  their 
philosophy  of  human  nature.  Tried  by  such  standard, 
Mark  Anthony  would  be  found  wanting.  As  a  citizen, 
he  was  irretrievably  licentious,  and  therefore  there 
needed  not  the  bitter  personal  feud,  which  circum- 
stances had  generated  between  them,  to  account  for 
the  achameme7it  with  which  Cicero  pursued  him.  Had 
Anthony  been  his  friend  even,  or  his  near  kinsman, 
Cicero  must  still  have  been  his  public  en  any.  And 
aot  merely  for  his  vices ;  for  even  the  grander  features 
of  his  character,  his  towering  ambition,  his  magna- 
nimity, and  the  fascinations  of  his  popular  qualities,  — 
were  all,  in  the  circumstances  of  those  times,  and  ic 
lis  position,  of  a  tendency  dangerously  uncivic. 


THE    C^SABS.  78 

So  remai-kable  was  the  opposition,  at  all  points,  be- 
Detween  the  second  Caesai  and  his  rival,  that  whereas, 
Anthony  even  in  his  virtues  seemed  dangerous  to  the 
state,  Octavi  as  gave  a  civic  coloring  to  his  most  indiffer- 
ent actions,  and,  with  a  Machiavelian  policy,  obse2vrd 
B  scrupulous  regard  to  the  forms  of  the  Republic,  after 
every  fragment  of  the  republican  institutions,  the  privi- 
leges of  the  republican  magistrates,  and  the  functions 
of  the  great  popular  officers,  had  been  absorbed  into 
his  own  autocracy.  Even  in  the  most  prosperous 
days  of  the  Roman  State,  when  the  democratic  forces 
balanced,  and  were  balanced  by,  those  of  the  aristoc- 
racy, it  was  far  from  being  a  general  or  common 
praise,  that  a  man  was  of  a  civic  turn  of  mind,  animo 
civili.  Yet  this  praise  did  Augustus  affect,  and  in 
reality  attain,  at  a  time  when  the  very  object  of  all 
civic  feeling  was  absolutely  extinct ;  so  much  are  men 
governed  by  words.  Suetonius  assures  us,  that  many 
evidences  were  current  even  to  his  times  of  this  popu- 
ar  disposition  {civilitas)  in  the  emperor ;  and  that  it 
survived  every  experience  of  servile  adulation  in  the 
Roman  populace,  and  all  the  effects  of  long  familiarity 
with  irresponsible  power  in  himself.  Such  a  modera- 
tion of  feeling,  we  are  almost  obliged  to  consider  as  a 
genuine  and  unaffected  expression  of  his  real  nature  ; 
for,  as  an  artifice  of  policy,  it  had  soon  lost  its  uses. 
A.nd  it  is  worthy  of  notice,  that  with  the  army  he  laid 
Aside    ^hose    popular   manners    as    soon    as    possible. 


M  THE    C^SABS. 

addressing  them  as  milites,  not  {according  to  his  ear- 
lier practice)  as  commilitones.  It  concerned  his  own 
security,  to  be  jealous  of  encroachments  on  his  power 
But  of  his  rank,  and  the  honors  which  accompanied  it, 
he  seems  to  have  been  uniformly  careless.  Thus,  he 
would  never  leave  a  town  or  enter  it  by  daylight, 
unless  some  higher  rule  of  policy  obliged  him  to  do  so  ; 
by  which  means  he  evaded  a  ceremonial  of  public 
honor  which  was  burdensome  to  all  the  parties  con- 
cerned in  it.  Sometimes,  hovvever,  we  find  that  men, 
careless  of  honors  in  th-eir  own  persons,  are  glad  to 
see  them  settling  upon  their  family  and  immediate 
connections.  But  here  again  Augustus  showed  the 
sincerity  of  his  moderation.  For  upon  one  occasion, 
when  the  whole  audience  in  the  Roman  theatre  had 
risen  upon  the  entrance  of  his  two  adopted  sons, 
at  that  time  not  seventeen  years  old,  he  was  highly 
displeased,  and  even  thought  it  necessary  to  publish 
his  displeasure  in  a  separate  edict.  It  is  another,  and 
a  striking  illustration  of  his  humility,  that  he  willingly 
accepted  of  public  appointments,  and  sedulously  dis- 
charged the  duties  attached  to  them,  in  conjunction 
wich  colleagues  who  had  been  chosen  with  little  regard 
to  his  personal  partialities.  In  the  debates  of  the 
senate,  he  showed  the  same  equanimity ;  sufiering 
himself  patiently  to  be  contradicted,  and  even  with 
tircumstances  of  studied  incivility.  In  the  public 
•lections,   he  gave  his  vote  like  any  private  citizen 


THE    C^SAKS.  T5 

und,  when  he  happened  to  be  a  candidate  himself  he 
canvassed  the  electors  with  the  same  earnestness  ot 
personal  application,  as  any  other  candidate  with  the 
least  possible  title  to  public  favor  from  present  power 
or  past  services.  But,  perhaps  by  no  expressions  'A 
his  civic  spirit  did  Augustus  so  much  conciliate  men's 
minds,  as  by  the  readiness  with  which  he  participated 
in  their  social  pleasures,  and  by  the  uniform  severity 
with  which  he  refused  to  apply  his  influence  in  any  way 
which  could  disturb  the  pure  administration  of  justice. 
The  Roman  juries  {judices  they  were  called),  were 
very  corrupt ;  and  easily  swayed  to  an  unconscientious 
verdict,  by  the  appearance  in  court  of  any  great  man 
oh  behalf  of  one  of  the  parties  interested ;  nor  was 
Buch  an  interference  with  the  course  of  private  justice 
any  ways  injurious  to  the  great  man's  character.  The 
wrong  which  he  promoted  did  but  the  more  forcibly 
proclaim  the  warmth  and  fidelity  of  his  friendships. 
So  much  the  more  generally  was  the  uprightness  of 
the  emperor  appreciated,  who  would  neither  tamper 
with  justice  himself  nor  countenance  any  motion  in 
that  direction,  though  it  were  to  serve  his  very  dearest 
friend,  either  by  his  personal  presence,  or  by  the  use 
f  his  name.  And,  as  if  it  had  been  a  trifle  merely  to 
forbear,  and  to  show  his  regard  to  justice  in  this  nega- 
live  way,  he  even  allowed  himself  to  be  summoned  at 
a  witness  on  trials,  and  showed  no  anger  when  his  own 
•vidence  was  overborne  by  stronger  on  the  other  side 


76  THE    CMSA.RR 

This  disinterested  love  of  justice,  and  an  integrity,  bo 
rare  in  the  great  men  of  Rome,  could  not  but  com- 
mand the  reverence  of  the  people.  But  their  aflfection, 
doubtless,  was  more  conciliated  by  the  freedom  with 
which  the  emperor  accepted  invitations  from  all  quar- 
ters, and  shared  continually  in  the  festal  pleasures  of 
his  subjects.  This  practice,  however,  he  discontinued, 
or  narrowed,  as  he  advanced  in  years.  Suetonius, 
who,  as  a  true  anecdote-monger,  would  solve  eVery 
thing,  and  account  for  every  change  by  some  definite 
incident,  charges  this  alteration  in  the  emperor's  con- 
descensions upon  one  particular  party  at  a  wedding 
feasst,  where  the  crowd  incommoded  him  much  by  their 
pressure  and  heat.  But,  doubtless,  it  happened  to 
Augustus  as  to  other  men  ;  his  spirits  failed,  and  his 
powers  of  supporting  fatigue  or  bustle,  as  years  stole 
upon  him.  Changes,  coming  by  insensible  steps,  and 
not  willingly  acknowledged,  for  some  time  escape 
notice ;  until  some  sudden  shock  reminds  a  man  for- 
cibly to  do  that  which  he  has  long  meditated  in  an 
ii resolute  way.  The  marriage  banquet  may  have  been 
the  particular  occasion  from  which  Augustus  stepped 
uto  the  habits  of  old  age,  but  certainly  not  the  cause 
of  so  entire  a  revolution  in  his  mode  of  living. 

It  might  seem  to  throw  some  doubt,  if  not  upon  the 
fact,  yet  at  least  upon  the  sincerity,  of  his  civism,  that 
undoubtedly  Augustus  cultivated  hi*  kingly  connec- 
tions with   considerable   anxiety      It  may  have   bees 


THE    CiESABS.  77 

apoa  motives  merely  political  that  he  kept  at  Rome  the 
tbildren  of  nearly  all  the  kings  then  known  as  allies  or 
rassals  of  the  Roman  power  :  a  curious  fact,  and  not 
generally  known.  In  his  own  palace  were  reared  a 
flumber  of  youthful  princes  ;  and  they  were  educated 
Jointly  with  his  own  children.  It  is  also  upon  record, 
that  in  many  instances  the  fathers  of  these  princes 
Bpontaneously  repaired  to  Rome,  and  there  assuming 
the  Roman  dress  —  as  an  expression  of  reverence  to 
the  majesty  of  the  omnipotent  State  —  did  personal 
'  suit  and  service  '  {more  clientum)  to  Augustus.  It  is 
an  anecdote  of  not  less  curiosity,  that  a  whole  '  college ' 
of  kings  subscribed  money  for  a  temple  at  Athens,  to 
t)e  dedicated  in  the  name  of  Augustus.  Throughout 
his  life,  indeed,  this  emperor  paid  a  marked  attention 
to  all  royal  houses  then  known  to  Rome,  as  occu- 
pying the  thrones  upon  the  vast  margin  of  the  empire. 
It  is  true  that  in  part  this  attention  might  be  interpreted ' 
as  given  politically  to  so  many  lieutenants,  wielding  a 
remote  or  inaccessible  power  for  the  benefit  of  Rome. 
And  the  children  of  these  kings  might  be  regarded  aa 
hostages,  ostensibly  entertained  for  the  sake  of  educa- 
tion, but  really  as  pledges  for  their  parents'  fidelity, 
and  also  with  a  view  to  the  large  reversionary  advan- 
tages which  might  be  expected  to  arise  upon  the  basis 
of  so  early  and  affiectionate  a  connection.  But  it  is  not 
khe  less  true,  that,  at  one  pciioc'  of  his  life,  Augustus 
did  certainly  meditate  some  closer  personal  connectio» 


78  THE    C^SAHS. 

with  the  royal  families  of  the  earth.  He  speculated, 
undoubtedly,  on  a  marriage  for  himself  with  some 
barbarous  princess,  and  at  one  time  designed  his  daugh- 
ter Julia  as  a  wife  for  Cotiso,  the  king  of  the  Getae. 
Superstition  perhaps  disturbed  the  one  scheme,  and 
policy  the  other.  He  married,  as  is  well  known,  for 
his  final  wife,  and  the  partner  of  his  life  through  it» 
whole  triumphant  stage,  Livia  Drusilla ;  compelling  her 
husband,  Tiberius  Nero,  to  divorce  her,  notwithstand- 
ing she  was  then  six  months  advanced  in  pregnancy. 
With  this  lady,  who  was  distinguished  for  her  beauty, 
it  is  certain  that  he  was  deeply  in  love  ;  and  that  might 
be  sufficient  to  account  for  the  marriage.  It  is  equally 
certain,  however,  upon  the  concurring  evidence  of  in- 
dependent writers,  that  this  connection  had  an  oracu- 
lar sanction  —  not  to  say  suggestion  ;  a  circumstance 
which  was  long  remembered,  and  was  afterwards  noticed 
by  the  Christian  poet  Prudentius : 

'  Idque  Deum  sortes  et  Apollinis  antra  dederunt 
Consilium  :  nunquam  melius  nam  csedere  tsedas 
Responsum  est,  quam  cum  praegnans  nova  nupta  jugatur.' 

His  daughter  Julia  had  been  promised  by  turns,  and 
always  upon  reasons  of  state,  to  a  whole  muster-roll 
of  suitors  ;  first  of  all,  to  a  son  of  Mark  Anthony  ; 
secondly,  to  the  barbarous  king  ;  thirdly,  to  her  first 
cousin  —  that  Marcellus,  the  son  of  Octavia,  only  siste* 
to  Augustus,  whose  early  death,  in  the  midst  of  great 
vtpectations,  Virgil  has  so  beautifully  introduced  int« 


THE    CiESABS.  79 

the  vision  of  Roman  grandeurs  as  yet  unborn,  which 
iEneas  beholds  in  the  shades ;  fourthly,  she  was  pro- 
mised (and  this  time  the  promise  was  kept)  to  the 
fortunate  soldier,  Agrippa,  whose  low  birth  wa,s  not 
permitted  to  obscure  his  military  merits.  By  him  she 
had  a  family  of  children,  upon  whom,  if  upon  any  in 
this  world  the  wrath  of  Providence  seems  to  have 
rested ;  for,  excepting  one,  and  in  spite  of  all  the 
favors  that  earth  and  heaven  could  unite  to  shower 
upon  them,  all  came  to  an  early,  a  violent,  and  an 
infamous  end.  Fifthly,  upon  the  death  of  Agrippa, 
and  again  upon  motives  of  policy,  and  in  atrocious 
contempt  of  all  the  ties  that  nature  and  the  human 
^eart  and  human  laws  have  hallowed,  she  was  prom- 
ised, (if  that  word  may  be  applied  to  the  violent 
obtrusion  upon  a  man's  bed  of  one  who  was  doubly  a 
curse  —  first,  for  what  she  brought,  and,  secondly,  for 
what  she  took  away,)  and  given  to  Tiberius,  the  future 
3mperor.  Upon  the  whole,  as  far  as  we  can  at  thifl 
lay  make    out  the    connection    of  a  man's   acts   and 

^rposes,  which,  even  to  his  own  age,  were  never 
-ntirely  rfleared  up,  it  is  probable  that,  so  long  as  the 
triumvirate  survived,  and  so  long  as  the  condition  of 
Roman  power  or  intrigues,  and  the  distribution  of  Ro- 
man influence,  were  such  as  to  leave  a  possibility  that 

ny  new  triumvirate  should  arise  —  so  long  Augustus 
<ras  secreily  meditating  a  retreat  for  himself  at  soma 
barbarous  court,  against  any  sudden  reverse  of  fortunt 


so  THE    C^SABf). 

by  means  of  a  domestic  connection,  which  should  give 
him  the  claim  of  a  kinsman.  Such  a  court,  howevei 
unable  to  make  head  against  the  collective  power  of 
Rome,  might  yet  present  a  front  of  resistance  to  any 
single  partisan  who  should  happen  to  acquire  a  brief 
ascendancy ;  or,  at  the  worst,  as  a  merely  defensive 
power,  might  offer  a  retreat,  secure  in  distance,  and 
difficult  of  access ;  or  might  be  available  as  a  means 
of  delay  for  recovering  from  some  else  fatal  defeat.  It 
is  certain  that  Augustus  viewed  Egypt  with  jealousy 
as  a  province,  which  might  be  turned  to  account  in 
some  such  way  by  any  inspiring  insurgent.  And  it 
must  have  often  struck  him  as  a  remarkable  circum- 
stance, which  by  good  luck  had  turned  out  entirely 
to  the  advantage  of  his  own  family,  but  which  might 
as  readily  have  had  an  opposite  result,  that  the  three 
decisive  battles  of  Pharsalia,  of  Thapsus,  and  of 
Munda,  in  which  the  empire  of  the  world  was  three 
times  over  staked  as  the  prize,  had  severally  brought 
upon  the  defeated  leaders  a  ruin  which  was  total, 
absolute,  and  final.  One  hour  had  seen  the  whole 
fabric  of  their  aspiring  fortunes  demolished  ;  and  no 
resource  was  left  to  them  but  either  in  suicide,  (which, 
accordingly  even  Caesar  had  meditated  at  one  stage 
of  the  battle  of  Munda,  when  it  seemed  to  be  going 
jgrainst  him,)  or  in  the  mercy  of  the  victor. 

That   a   victor   in  a  hundred  fights   should  in  his 
ttundred-ar,d-first,^    as  in  his  first,  risk  the  loss  of  thtJ 


THE    C^SAKB.  81 

paiiiculai  battle,  is  inseparable  from  the  condition  of 
man,  and  tlie  uncertainty  of  human  means ;  but  tha 
the  loss  of  this  one  battle  should  be  equally  fatal  and 
irrecoverable  with  the  loss  of  his  first,  that  it  should 
leave  him  with  means  no  more  cemented,  and  re- 
sources no  better  matured  for  retarding  his  fall,  and 
throwing  a  long  succession  of  hindrances  in  the  way 
of  his  conqueror,  argues  some  essential  defect  of  sys- 
tem. Under  our  modern  policy,  military  power  — 
though  it  may  be  the  growth  of  one  man's  life  —  soon 
takes  root ;  a  succession  of  campaigns  is  required  for 
its  extirpation ;  and  it  revolves  backwards  to  its  final 
extinction  through  all  the  stages  by  which  originally 
it  grew.  On  the  Roman  system  this  was  mainly 
impossible  from  the  solitariness  of  the  Roman  power ; 
co-rival  nations  who  might  balance  the  victorious 
party,  there  were  absolutely  none ;  and  all  the  under- 
lings hastened  to  make  their  peace,  whilst  peace  was 
yet  open  to  them,  on  the  known  terms  of  absolute 
treachery  to  their  former  master,  and  instant  surrender 
to  the  victor  of  the  hour.  For  this  capital  defect  in 
the  tenure  of  Roman  power,  no  matter  in  whose  hands 
deposited,  there  was  no  absolute  remedy.  Many  a 
sleepless  night,  during  the  perilous  game  which  ho 
played  with  Anthony,  must  have  familiarized  Octavius 
with  that  view  of  the  risk,  which  to  some  extent  was 
inseparable  from  his  position  as?  the  leader  in  such  a 
Uruggl'^  carried  on  in  suoh  an  empire.  In  this  di* 
6 


82  THE    CJESAES. 

lemma,  struck  with  the  extreme  necessity  of  apply hi|j 
some  palliation  to  the  case,  we  have  no  doubt  thai 
Augustus  would  devise  the  scheme  of  laying  some 
distant  king  under  such  obligations  to  fidelity  as  would 
suffice  to  stand  the  first  shock  of  misfortune.  Such  a 
person  would  have  power  enough  of  a  direct  military 
kind,  to  face  the  storm  at  its  outbreak.  He  would 
have  power  of  another  kind  in  his  distance.  He  would 
be  sustained  by  the  courage  of  hope,  as  a  kinsman 
having  a  contingent  interest  in  a  kinsman's  prosperity. 
And,  finally,  he  would  be  sustained  by  the  courage  of 
despair,  as  one  who  never  could  expect  to  be  trusted 
by  the  opposite  party.  In  the  worst  case,  such  a 
prince  would  always  ofi"er  a  breathing  time  and  a 
respite  to  his  friends,  were  it  only  by  his  remoteness, 
and  if  not  the  means  of  rallying,  yet  at  least  the  time 
for  rallying,  more  especially  as  the  escape  to  his  fron- 
tier would  be  easy  to  one  who  had  long  forecast  it. 
We  can  hardly  doubt  that  Augustus  meditated  such 
schemes ;  that  he  laid  them  aside  only  as  his  power 
began  to  cemsnt  and  to  knit  together  after  the  battle 
of  Actiura ;  and  that  the  memory  and  the  prudentia. 
tradition  of  this  plan  survived  in  the  imperial  family  so 
bng  as  itself  survived.  Amongst  other  anecdotes  of 
the  same  tendency,  two  are  recorded  of  Nero,  the 
emperor  in  whom  expired  the  line  of  the  original 
Caesars,  which  strengthen  us  in  a  belief  of  what  is 
otherwise    in    itself  so    probable.     Nero,  in   his  firsi 


THE    CvESARS.  88 

distractions,  upon  receiving  the  fatal  tidings  of  th« 
revolt  in  Gaul,  when  reviewing  all  possible  plans  of 
escape  from  the  impending  danger,  thought  at  intervals 
of  throwing  himself  on  the  protection  of  the  barbarous 
King  Vologesus.  And  twenty  years  afterwards,  when 
the  Pseudo-Nero  appeared,  he  found  a  strenuous  cham- 
pion and  protector  in  the  King  of  the  Parthians.  Pos- 
sibly, had  an  opportunity  offered  for  searching  the 
Parthian  chancery,  some  treaty  would  have  been  found 
binding  the  kings  of  Parthia,  from  the  age  of  Augustus 
through  some  generations  downwards,  in  requital  of 
services  there  specified,  or  of  treasures  lodged,  to 
secure  a  perpetual  asylum  to  the  posterity  of  the 
Julian  family. 

The  cruelties  of  Augustus  were  perhaps  equal  in 
atrocity  to  any  which  are  recorded  ;  and  the  equivocal 
apology  for  those  acts  (one  which  might  as  well  be 
used  to  aggravate  as  to  palliate  the  case)  is,  that  they 
were  not  prompted  by  a  ferocious  nature,  but  by  cal- 
culating policy.  He  once  actually  slaughtered  upon 
an  altar  a  large  body  of  his  prisoners ;  and  such  was 
the  contempt  with  which  he  was  regarded  by  some  of 
that  number,  that,  when  led  out  to  death,  they  saluted 
their  other  proscriber,  Anthony,  with  military  honors, 
acknowledging  merit  even  in  an  enemy,  but  Augustus 
they  passed  with  scornful  silence,  or  with  loud  re- 
proaches. Too  certainly  no  man  has  ever  contended 
lor   empire  with   unsullied   coEscieT?ce,  or   laid   pure 


64  THE    C^SARS. 

bands  upon  the  ark  of  so  magnificent  a  prize.  Everj 
friend  to  Augustus  must  have  wished  that  the  twelve 
years  of  his  struggle  might  for  ever  be  blotted  out  from 
human  remembrance.  During  the  forty-two  years  of 
his  prosperity  and  his  triumph,  being  above  fear,  he 
showed  the  natural  lenity  of  his  temper. 

That  prosperity,  in  a  public  sense,  has  been  rarely 
equalled  ;  but  far  difierent  was  his  fate,  and  memorable 
was  the  contrast,  within  the  circuit  of  his  own  family. 
This  lord  of  the  universe  groaned  as  often  as  the  ladies 
of  his  hoxise,  his  daughter  and  grand-daughter,  were 
mentioned.  The  shame  which  he  felt  on  their  account, 
led  him  even  to  unnatural  designs,  and  to  wishes  not 
less  so  ;  for  at  one  time  he  entertained  a  plan  for 
putting  the  elder  Julia  to  death  —  and  at  another,  upon 
hearing  that  Phoebe  (one  of  the  female  slaves  in  his 
household)  had  hanged  herself,  he  exclaimed  audibly, 
—  '  Would  that  I  had  been  the  father  of  Phoebe  ! '  It 
must,  however,  be  granted,  that  in  this  miserable  affair 
he  behaved  with  very  little  of  his  usual  discretion.  In 
the  first  paroxysms  of  his  rage,  on  discovering  his 
daughter's  criminal  conduct,  he  made  a  communication 
of  the  whole  to  the  senate.  That  body  could  do  noth- 
ing in  such  a  matter,  either  by  act  or  by  suggestion : 
and  in  a  short  time,  as  every-body  could  have  foreseen, 
he  himself  repented  of  his  own  want  of  self-command. 
Upon  the  whole,  it  cannot  be  denied,  that,  according 
u}  the  remark  of  Jeremj'  Taylor,  of  all  th(?  men  signally 


TH£    CJU8ARS.  85 

decorated  by  history,  Augustus  Caesar  is  that  one  wh« 
exemplifies,  in  the  most  emphatic  terms,  the  mixed 
tenor  of  human  life,  and  the  equitable  distribution, 
even  on  this  earth,  of  good  and  evil  fortune.  He  made 
himself  master  of  the  world,  and  against  the  most  for- 
midable competitors  ;  his  power  was  absolute,  from  tbe 
rising  to  the  setting  sun ;  and  yet  in  his  own  house, 
where  the  peasant  who  does  the  humblest  chares, 
claims  an  undisputed  authority,  he  was  baifled,  dishon- 
ored, and  made  ridiculous.  He  was  loved  by  nobody  ; 
and  if,  at  the  moment  of  his  death,  he  desired  his 
friends  to  dismiss  him  from  this  world  by  the  common 
jxpression  of  scenical  applause,  {vos  plaudite  !)  in  that 
valedictory  injunction  he  expressed  inadvertently  the 
true  value  of  his  own  long  life,  which,  in  strict  candor, 
may  be  pronounced  one  continued  series  of  histrionic 
efforts,  and  of  excellent  acting,  adapted  tc  selfish 
ends. 


S6  THE  c;esa.bs. 


CHAPTER  III. 

The  next  three  emperors,  Caligula,  Claudius,  aad 
Nero,  were  the  last  princes  who  had  any  connection 
by  blood '^  with  the  Julian  house.  In  Nero,  the  sixth 
emperor,  expired  the  last  of  the  Csesais,  who  was  such 
in  reality.  These  three  were  also  the  first  in  that  long 
line  of  monsters,  who,  at  different  times,  under  the  title 
of  Csesars,  dishonored  humanity  more  memorably,  than 
was  possible,  except  in  the  cases  of  those  (if  any  such 
can  be  named)  who  have  abused  the  same  enormous 
powers  in  times  of  the  same  civility,  and  in  defiance  of 
the  same  general  illumination.  But  for  them  it  is  a 
fact,  that  some  crimes,  which  now  stain  the  page  of 
history,  would  have  been  accounted  fabulous  dreams 
of  impure  romancers,  taxing  their  extravagant  imagi- 
nations to  create  combinations  of  mckedness  more 
hideous  than  civilized  men  would  tolerate,  and  more 
unnatural  than  the  human  heart  could  conceive.  Let 
us,  by  way  of  example,  take  a  short  chapter  from  the 
diabolical  life  of  Caligula  :  —  In  what  way  did  he  treat 
his  nearest  and  tenderest  female  connections  ?  His 
mother  had  been  tortured  and  murdered  by  another 
tyrant  almost  as  fiendish  as  himself.  She  was  happily 
removed  from  his  cruelty.     Disdaining,    however,    to 


THE    C^SAKS.  87 

ickn^ywledge  any  connection  with  the  blood  of  so  ob- 
•cure  a  man  as  Agrippa,  he  publicly  gave  out  th&i  his 
mother  was  indeed  the  daughter  of  Julia,  but  by  an 
incestuous  commerce  with  her  father  Augustus.  Hia 
three  sisters  he  debauched.  One  died,  and  her  he 
canonized ;  the  other  two  he  prostituted  to  the  basest 
of  his  own  attendants.  Of  his  wives,  it  would  be  hai'd 
to  say  whether  they  were  first  sought  and  won  with 
more  circumstances  of  injury  and  outrage,  or  dismissed 
with  more  insult  and  levity.  The  one  whom  he  treat- 
ed best,  and  with  most  profession  of  love,  and  who 
commonly  rode  by  his  side,  equipped  with  spear  and 
shield,  to  his  military  inspections  and  reviews  of  the 
soldiery,  though  not  particularly  beautiful,  was  exhib- 
ited to  his  friends  at  banquets  in  a  state  of  absolute 
nudity.  His  motive  for  treating  her  with  so  much 
kindness,  was,  probably  that  she  brought  him  a 
daughter ;  and  her  he  acknowledged  as  his  own  child, 
from  the  early  brutality  with  which  she  attacked  the 
eyes  and  cheeks  of  other  infants  who  were  presented 
tc  her  as  play-fellows.  Hence  it  would  appear  that 
he  was  aware  of  his  own  ferocity,  and  treated  it  as  a 
jest.  The  levity,  indeed,  which  he  mingled  with  his 
worst  and  most  inhuman  acts,  and  the  slightness  of 
the  occasions  upon  which  he  delighted  to  hang  his  most 
memorable  atrocities,  aggravated  their  impression  at 
the  time,  and  must  have  contributed  greatly  to  sharpen 
^c  3wrd  of  '";ngcan«">      His  palace  happened  to  be 


88  THE    C^SAKS. 

contiguous  to  the  circus.  Some  seats,  it  seems,  Aveie 
open  indiscriminately  to  the  public ;  consequently,  the 
3nly  way  in  which  they  could  be  appropriated,  was  by 
taking  possession  of  them  as  eai-ly  as  the  midnight  pre- 
seding  any  great  exhibitions.  Once,  when  it  happened 
that  his  sleep  was  disturbed  by  such  an  occasion,  he 
sent  in  soldiers  to  eject  them;  and  with  qrders  so  rig- 
orous, as  it  appeared  by  the  event,  that  in  this  singular 
tumult,  twenty  Roman  knights,  and  as  many  mothersi 
of  families,  were  cudgelled  to  death  upon  the  spot,  to 
say  nothing  of  what  the  reporter  calls  'innumeram 
turbam  ceteram.' 

But  this  is  a  trifle  to  another  anecdote  reported  by 
the  same  authority  :  —  On  some  occasion  it  happened 
that  a  dearth  prevailed,  either  generally  of  cattle,  or  of 
Buch  cattle  as  were  used  for  feeding  the  wild  beasts 
reserved  for  the  bloody  exhibitions  of  the  amphitheatre. 
Food  could  be  had,  and  perhaps  at  no  very  exorbitant 
price,  but  on  terms  somewhat  higher  than  the  ordinary 
market  price.  A  slight  excuse  served  with  Caligula 
for  acts  the  most  monstrous.  Instantly  repairing  to 
the  public  jails,  and  causing  all  the  prisoners  to  pass  in 
review  before  him  {custodiarum  seriem  recognoscens), 
he  pointed  to  two  bald-headed  men,  and  ordered  that 
the  whole  file  of  intermediate  persons  should  be 
marched  off  to  the  dens  of  the  wild  beasts  :  '  Tell 
them  off,'  said  he,  'from  the  bald  man  to  the  bald 
man.'     Yet  these  were  prisoneis  committed,  not  foi 


THE    C^SABS.  89 

punishment,  but  trial.  Nor,  had  it  been  otherwise, 
were  the  charges  against  them  equal,  but  running 
through  every  gradation  of  guilt.  But  the  elogia,  o. 
records  of  their  commitment,  he  would  not  so  much  as 
look  at.  "With  such  inordinate  capacities  for  cruelty, 
we  cannot  wonder  that  he  should  in  his  common  cod- 
versation  have  deplored  the  tameness  and  insipidity  of 
his  own  times  and  reign,  as  likely  to  be  marked  b^  no 
wide-spreading  calamity.  '  Augustus,'  said  he,  'was 
happy ;  for  in  his  reign  occurred  the  slaughter  of 
Varus  and  his  legions.  Tiberius  was  happy  ;  for  in  his 
occurred  that  glorious  fall  of  the  great  amphitheatre 
at  Fidenae.  But  for  me  —  alas !  alas  ! '  And  then  he 
would  pray  earnestly  for  fire  or  slaughter  —  pestilence 
or  famine.  Famine  indeed  was  to  some  extent  in  his 
own  power  ;  and  accordingly,  as  far  as  his  courage 
would  carry  him,  he  did  occasionally  try  that  mode  of 
tragedy  upon  the  people  of  Rome,  by  shutting  up  the 
public  granaries  against  them.  As  he  blended  his 
mirth  and  a  truculent  sense  of  the  humorous  with  his 
cruelties,  we  cannot  wonder  that  he  should  soon  blend 
his  cruelties  with  his  ordinary  festivities,  and  that  his 
daily  banquets  would  soon  become  insipid  without  them. 
Hence  he  required  a  daily  supply  of  executions  in  his 
own  halls  and  banqueting  rooms ;  nor  was  a  dinner 
teld  to  be  complete  without  such  a  dessert.  Artists 
were  sought  out  who  had  dexterity  and  strength  enough 
»  do  what  Lucan  somewhere  calls  ensem  rotare,  that 


90  THE    C^SAKS. 

IB,  to  cut  off  a  human  head  with  one  whirl  of  the 
sword.  Even  this  became  insipid,  as  wanting  on* 
main  element  of  misery  to  the  sufferer,  and  an  indis 
pensable  condiment  to  the  jaded  palate  of  the  con- 
noisseur, viz.,  a  lingering  duration.  As  a  pleasant 
rariety,  therefore,  the  tormentors  were  introduced  with 
their  various  instruments  of  torture ;  and  many  a 
dismal  tragedy  in  that  mode  of  human  suffering  was 
conducted  in  the  sacred  presence  during  the  emperor's 
hours  of  amiable  relaxation. 

The  result  of  these  horrid  indulgences  was  exactly 
what  we  might  suppose,  that  even  such  scenes  ceased 
to  irritate  the  languid  appetite,  and  yet  that  without 
them  life  was  not  endurable.  Jaded  and  exhausted  as 
the  sense  of  pleasure  had  become  in  Caligula,  still  it 
could  be  roused  into  any  activity  by  nothing  short  of 
these  murderous  luxuries.  Hence,  it  seems,  that  he 
was  continually  tampering  and  dallying  with  the 
thought  of  murder  ;  and  like  the  old  Parisian  jeweller 
Cardillac,  in  Louis  XIV. 's  time,  who  was  stung  with 
a  perpetual  lust  for  murdering  the  possessors  of  fine 
diamonds  —  not  so  much  for  the  value  of  the  prize  (of 
which  he  never  hoped  to  make  any  use),  as  from  an 
unconquerable  desire  of  precipitating  himself  into  the 
difficulties  and  hazards  of  the  murder,  —  Caligula 
never  failed  to  experience  (and  sometimes  even  to 
acknowledge)  a  secret  temptation  to  any  murder  whicl 
seemed  either  more  than  usuallv  abominable,  or  mor«» 


THE    C^SARS.  91 

Aan  usually  difficult.  Thus,  wliten  the  two  consuli 
were  seated  at  his  table,  he  burst  out  into  sudden  and 
profuse  laughter  ;  and  upon  their  courteously  request- 
ing to  know  what  witty  and  admirable  conceit  might 
be  the  occasion  of  the  imperial  mirth,  he  frankly 
owned  to  them,  and  doubtless  he  did  not  improve  their 
appetites  by  this  confession,  that  in  fact  he  was  laugh- 
ing, and  that  he  could  not  hut  laugh,  (and  then  the 
monster  laughed  immoderately  again,)  at  the  pleasant 
thought  of  seeing  them  both  headless,  and  that  with  so 
little  trouble  to  himself,  {uno  suo  nuto,)  he  could  have 
both  their  throats  cut.  No  doubt  he  was  continually 
balancing  the  arguments  for  and  against  such  little 
escapades  ;  nor  had  any  person  a  reason  for  security 
in  the  extraordinary  obligations,  whether  of  hospitality 
or  of  religious  vows,  which  seemed  to  lay  him  under 
some  peculiar  restraints  in  that  case  above  all  others  ; 
for  such  circumstances  of  peculiarity,  by  which  the 
murder  would  be  stamped  with  unusual  ati'ocity,  were 
but  the  more  likely  to  make  its  fascinations  irresistible. 
Hence  he  dallied  with  the  thoughts  of  murdering  her 
>vhom  he  loved  best,  and  indeed  exclusively  —  his  wife 
C'sesonia  ;  and  whilst  fondling  her,  and  toying  playfully, 
with  her  polished  throat,  he  was  distracted  (as  he  half 
insinuated  to  her)  between  the  desire  of  caressing  it, 
which  might  be  often  repeated,  and  that  of  cutting  it, 
"^vliich  could  be  gratified  but  once. 

Nero  (for  as   to  Claudius,  he   catr^o  too  late  to  the" 


H  TH£    CJESXRS. 

throne  to  indulge  any  propensities  of  tliis  nature  with 
BO  little  discretion)  was  but  a  variety  of  the  same 
Bpecies.  He  also  was  an  amateur,  and  an  enthusiastic 
amateur  of  murder.  But  as  this  taste,  in  the  most 
ingenious  hands,  is  limited  and  monotonous  in  its  modes 
of  manifestation,  it  would  be  tedious  to  run  through  the 
long  Suetonian  roll-call  of  his  peccadilloes  in  this  way. 
One  only  we  shall  cite,  to  illustrate  the  amorous  delight 
with  which  he  pursued  any  murder  which  happened  to 
be  seasoned  highly  to  his  taste  by  enormous  atrocity 
and  by  almost  unconquerable  difficulty.  It  would 
really  be  pleasant,  were  it  not  for  the  revolting  consid- 
eration of  the  persons  concerned,  and  their  relation  to 
each  other,  to  watch  the  tortuous  pursuit  of  the  hunter, 
and  the  doubles  of  the  game,  in  this  obstinate  chase. 
For  certain  reasons  of  state,  as  Nero  attempted  to 
persuade  himself,  but  in  reality  because  no  other  crime 
had  the  same  attractions  of  unnatural  horror  about  it, 
he  resolved  to  murder  his  mother  Agrippina.  This 
being  settled,  the  next  thing  was  to  arrange  the  mode 
and  thf  tools.  Naturally  enough,  according  to  the 
custom  then  prevalent  in  Rome,  he  first  attempted  the 
thing  by  poison.  The  poison  faUed ;  for  Agrippina, 
anticipating  tricks  of  this  kind,  had  armed  her  consti- 
tution against  them,  like  Mithridates  ;  and  daily  took 
potent  antidotes  and  prophylactics.  Or  else  (which  is 
more  probable)  the  emperor's  agent  in  such  purpose* 
fearing  his  sudden  repentance    and   remorse    on   fira* 


THE    CiESARS.  93 

hearing  of  his  mother's  death,  or  possibly  even  witness- 
ing her  agonies,  had  composed  a  poison  of  inferior 
strength.  This  had  certainly  occurred  in  the  case  of 
Britannicus,  who  had  thrown  oflF  with  ease  the  first 
dose  administered  to  him  by  Nero.  Upon  which  he 
had  summoned  to  his'  presence  the  woman  employed 
in  the  affair,  and  compelling  her  by  threats  to  mingle  a 
more  powerful  potion  in  his  own  presence,  had  tried  it 
successively  upon  different  animals,  until  he  was  satis- 
fied with  its  effects  ;  after  which,  immediately  inviting 
Britannicus  to  a  banquet,  he  had  finally  dispatched 
him.  On  Agrippina,  however,  no  changes  in  the 
poison,  whether  of  kind  or  strength,  had  any  effect : 
80  that,  after  various  trials,  this  mode  of  murder  was 
abandoned,  and  the  emperor  addressed  himself  to  other 
plans.  The  first  of  these  was  some  curious  mechanical 
device,  by  which  a  false  ceiling  was  to  have  been  sus- 
pended by  bolts  above  her  bed  ;  and  in  the  middle  of 
the  night,  the  bolt  being  suddenly  drawn,  a  vast  weight 
would  have  descended  with  a  ruinous  destruction  to  all 
below.  This  scheme,  however,  taking  air  from  the 
indiscretion  of  some  amongst  the  accomplices,  reached 
the  ears  of  Agrippina  ;  upon  which  the  old  lady  looked 
about  her  too  sharply  to  leave  much  hope  in  that 
■cheme :  so  that  also  was  abandoned.  Next,  he  con- 
ceived  the  idea  of  an  artificial  ship,  which,  at  the  touch 
of  a  few  springs,  mignt  fall  to  pieces  in  deep  water. 
Such  a  ship  was  prepared,  and  stationed  at  a  suitable 


94  THE    CXSAKS. 

point.  But  the  main  difficulty  remained,  which  was  to 
persuade  the  old  lady  to  go  on  board.  Not  that  she 
knew  in  this  case  who  had  been  the  ship-builder,  for 
that  would  have  ruined  all ;  but  it  seems  that  she  took 
it  ill  to  be  hunted  in  this  murderous  spirit ;  and  was 
out  of  humor  with  her  son  ;  besides,  that  any  proposal 
coming  from  him,  though  previously  indifferent  to  her, 
would  have  instantly  become  suspected.  To  meet  this 
difficulty  a  sort  of  reconciliation  was  proposed,  and  a 
very  affectionate  message  sent,  which  had  the  effect  of 
throwing  Agrippina  off  her  guard,  and  seduced  her  to 
Baise  for  the  purpose  of  joining  the  emperor's  party  at 
a  great  banquet  held  in  commemoration  of  a  solemn 
festival.  She  came  by  water  in  a  sort  of  light  frigate, 
and  was  to  return  in  the  same  way.  Meantime  Nero 
tampered  with  the  commander  of  her  vessel,  and  pre- 
vailed upon  him  to  wreck  it.  What  was  to  be  done  ? 
The  great  lady  was  anxious  to  return  to  Rome,  and  no 
proper  conveyance  was  at  hand.  Suddenly  it  was 
suggested,  as  if  by  chance,  that  a  ship  of  the  empe- 
ror's, new  and  properly  equipped,  was  moored  at  a 
neighboring  station.  This  was  readily  accepted  by 
A-grippina  :  the  emperor  accompanied  her  to  the  place 
of  embarkation,  took  a  most  tender  leave  of  her,  and 
saw  her  set  saU.  It  was  necessary  that  the  vessel 
fhould  get  into  deep  water  before  the  experiment  could 
be  made  ;  and  \vith  the  utmost  agitation  this  pious  son 
twaited   news    of  the  result.     Suddenly  a  messenger 


THK     C^SARS.  9b 

mshed  breatUuss  into  his  presence,  and  horiified  him 
by  the  joyful  information  that  his  august  mother  had 
met  with  an  alarming  accident ;  but,  by  the  blessing  of 
Heaven,  had  escaped  saft  and  sound,  and  was  now  on 
her  road  to  mingle  congratulations  with  her  affectionate 
bOii.  The  ship,  it  seems,  had  done  its  office  ;  the 
mechanism  nad  played  admirably  ;  but  who  can  pro- 
vide for  everything  ?  The  old  lady,  it  turned  out, 
could  swim  like  a  duck  ;  and  the  whole  result  had  been 
to  refresh  her  with  a  little  sea-bathing.  Here  was 
worshipful  intelligence.  Could  any  man's  temper  be 
expected  to  stand  such  continued  sieges  ?  Money,  and 
trouble,  and  infinite  contrivance,  wasted  upon  one  old 
woman,  who  absolutely  would  not,  upon  any  terms,  bo 
murdered  !  Provoking  it  certainly  was  ;  and  of  a  man 
like  Nero  it  could  not  be  expected  that  he  should  any 
longer  dissemble  his  disgust,  or  put  up  with  such 
repeated  affronts.  He  rushed  upon  his  simple  con- 
gratulating friend,  swore  that  he  had  come  to  murder 
him,  and  as  nobody  could  have  suborned  him  but 
Agrippina,  he  ordered  her  off  to  instant  execution 
And,  unquestionably,  if  people  will  not  be  murdered 
|uietly  and  in  a  civil  way,  they  must  expect  that  such 
forbearance  is  not  to  continue  for  ever  ;  and  obviously 
liave  themselves"  only  to  blame  for  any  harshness  or 
violence  which  they  may  have  rendered  necessary. 

It  is  singular,    and  shocking  at  the  same  time,  to 
»ention,  that,  for  this  utrocity    Nero   did  absolutely 


98  THE    CiBSARS. 

receive  solemn  congratvJations  from  all  orders  of  men. 
With  such  evidences  of  base  servility  in  the  public 
mind,  and  of  the  utter  corruption  which  they  had  sus- 
tained in  their  elementary  feelings,  it  is  the  less  aston- 
ishing that  he  should  have  made  other  experiments 
upon  the  public  patience,  which  seem  expressly  de- 
signed to  try  how  much  it  would  support.  Whethei 
he  were  really  the  author  of  the  desolating  fire  which 
consumed  Rome  for  six  days  ^^  and  seven  nights,  and 
drove  the  mass  of  the  people  into  the  tombs  and  sep- 
ulchres for  shelter,  is  yet  a  matter  of  some  doubt. 
But  one  great  presumption  against  it,  founded  on  ita 
desperate  imprudence,  as  attacking  the  people  in  their 
primary  comforts,  is  considerably  weakened  by  the 
enormous  servility  of  the  Romans  in  the  case  just 
stated  :  they  who  could  volunteer  congratulations  to  a 
son  for  butchering  his  mother,  (no  matter  on  what 
pretended  suspicions,)  might  reasonably  be  supposed 
incapable  of  any  resistance  which  required  courage 
even  in  a  case  of  self-defence,  or  of  just  revenge. 
The  direct  reasons,  however,  for  implicating  him  in 
this  aifair,  seem  at  present  insufficient.  He  was  dis- 
pleased, it  seems,  with  the  irregularity  and  unsightli- 
uess  of  the  antique  buildings,  and  also  with  the  streets, 
as  too  narrow  and  winding,  (angustiis  Jlexurisque 
vicorum.)  But  in  this  he  did  but  express  what  was  no 
doubt  the  common  judgment  of  all  his  contemporaries 
who  h*d  seen  the  beautiful  cities  of  Greece  and  Asii 


THE    C^SABS.  97 

Minor.  The  Rome  of  that  time  was  in  many  parta 
built  of  wood ;  and  there  is  much  probability  that  it 
must  have  been  a  picturesque  city,  and  in  parts  almost 
grotesque.  But  it  is  remarkable,  and  a  fact  which  we 
have  nowhere  seen  noticed,  that  the  ancients,  whether 
Greeks  or  Romans,  had  no  eye  for  the  picturesque  ; 
nay,  that  it  was  a  sense  utterly  unawakened  amongst 
them  ;  and  that  the  very  conception  of  the  picturesque, 
as  of  a  thing  distinct  from  the  beautiful,  is  not  once 
alluded  to  through  the  whole  course  of  ancient  lite- 
rature, nor  would  it  have  been  intelligible  to  any 
ancient  critic  ;  so  that,  whatever  attraction  for  the  eye 
might  exist  in  the  Rome  of  that  day,  there  is  little 
doubt  that  it  was  of  a  kind  to  be  felt  only  by  modern 
spectators.  Mere  dissatisfaction  with  its  external  ap- 
pearance, which  must  have  been  a  pretty  general 
sentiment,  argued,  therefore,  no  necessary  purpose  of 
destroying  it.  Certainly  it  would  be  weightier  ground 
of  suspicion,  if  it  were  really  true  that  some  of  his 
agents  were  detected  on  the  premises  of  different 
senators  in  the  act  of  applying  combustibles  to  their 
mansions.  But  this  story  wears  a  very  fabulous  air. 
For  why  resort  to  the  private  dwellings  of  great  men, 
where  any  intruder  was  sure  of  attracting  notice,  when 
the  same  effect  and  with  the  same  deadly  results, 
might  have  been  attained  quietly  and  secretly  in  so 
tnany  of  the  humble  Roman  coenacula  ? 

The  great  loss  on  this  memorable  occasion  was  io 


98  THE    C^SARS. 

the  heraldic  and  ancestral  honors  of  the  city.     Hi(»« 
toric  Eome  then  went  to  wreck  for   ever.     Then  per- 
ished  the   domus  priscorum   ducum    hoslilibus   adhuc 
spoliis  adornatcB  ;  the  '  rostral '  palace  ;  the  mansion  of 
the  Pompeys ;  the  Blenheims  and  the   Strathfieldsays 
of  the  Scipios,  the  Marcelli,  the  Paulli,  and  the  Ceesare  ; 
then    perished  the   aged   trophies   from  Carthage  and 
from  Gaul ;  and,  in  short,  as  the  historian  sums  up 
the  lamentable   desolation,  '  quidquid  visendum  atque 
memorabile    ex  antiquitate  duraverat.'     And    this   of 
itself  might  lead  one   to   suspect  the  emperor's  hand 
as  the  original  agent ;  for  by  no  one  act  was  it  possible 
so  entirely  and  so  suddenly  to  wean  the  people  from 
their  old  republican  recollections,  and  in  one  week  to 
obliterate  the  memorials   of  their  popular  forces,  and 
the  trophies  of  many  ages.     The  old  people  of  Rome 
were  gone  ;  their  characteristic  dress  even  was  gone ; 
for  already  in  the  time  of  Augustus  they  had  laid  aside 
the    toga,   and    assumed    the     cheaper    and    scantier 
pcenula,  so  that  the  eye  sought  in  vain  for  Virgil's 
»  Romanus  rerum  dominos  gentemque  iogatam. ' 
Why  then,    after    all    the    constituents    of   Roman 
i^jtandeur  had    passed    away,    should    their   historical 
trophies    survive,    recalling    to    them    the    scenes   of 
departed   heroism,    in    which    they   had    no    personam 
property,  and  suggesting  to   them  vain  hopes,  which 
for   them    were    never   to    be    other   than   chimeras 
Even  in  that  sense,  therefore,  and  as  a  great  deposit 


THE    C^SARS.  99 

Jory  of  heart-stirring  historical  remembrances,  ^{ome 
hras  profitably  destroyed ;  and  in  any  other  sense, 
whether  for  health  or  for  the  conveniences  of  pjlished 
life,  or  for  architectural  magnificence,  there  never 
was  a  doubt  that  the  Roman  people  gained  infinitely 
by  this  confiagration.  For,  like  London,  it  arose  from 
its  ashes  with  a  splendor  proportioned  to  its  vast  ex- 
pansion of  wealth  and  population  ;  and  marble  took  the 
place  of  wood.  For  the  moment,  however,  this  event 
must  have  been  felt  by  the  people  as  an  overwhelming 
calamity.  And  it  serves  to  illustrate  the  passive  en- 
durance and  timidity  of  the  popular  temper,  and  to 
what  extent  it  might  be  provoked  with  impunity,  that 
in  this  state  of  general  irritation  and  efiervescence, 
Nero  absolutely  forbade  them  to  meddle  with  the 
ruins  of  their  own  dwellings  —  taking  that  charge  upon 
himself,  with  a  view  to  the  vast  wealth  which  he  anti- 
cipated from  sifting  the  rubbish.  And,  as  if  that  mode 
of  plunder  were  not  sufiicient,  he  exacted  compulsory 
contributions  to  the  rebuilding  of  the  city  so  indis- 
criminately, as  to  press  heavily  upon  all  men's  finan- 
ces ;  and  thus,  in  the  public  account  which  universally 
imputed  the  fire  to  him,  he  was  viewed  as  a  twofold 
robber,  who  sought  to  heal  one  calamity  by  the  inflic- 
"on  of  another  and  a  greater. 

The  monotony  of  wickedness  and  outrage  becomes 
■«  length  fatiguing  io  the  couscst  and  most  calloui 
icfises  ;  and  the  historian,  even,  who  caters  professedly 


TOO  THE    CjESARS. 

for  the  taste  wliicn  feeds  upon  the  monstrous  and  thti 
hyperbolical,  is  glad  at  length  to  escape  from  the  long 
evolution  of  his  insane  atrocities,  to  the  striking  and 
truly  scenical  catastrophe  of  retribution  which  overtook 
them,  and  avenged  the  wrongs  of  an  insulted  world. 
Perhaps  liistory  contains  no  more  impressive  scenes 
than  those  in  which  the  justice  of  Providence  at  length 
arrested  the  monstrous  career  of  Nero. 

It  was  at  Naples,  and  by  a  remarkable  fatality,  on 
the  very  anniversary  of  his  mother's  murder,  that  he 
received  the  first  intelligence  of  the  revolt  in  Gaul 
under  the  Propraetor  Vindex.  This  news  for  about  a 
week  he  treated  with  levity  ;  and,  like  Henry  VII.  of 
England,  who  was  nettled,  not  so  much  at  being  pro- 
claimed a  rebel,  as  because  he  was  described  uncer 
the  slighting  denomination  of  '  one  Henry  Tidder  or 
Tudor,'  he  complained  bitterly  that  Vindex  had  men- 
tioned him  by  his  family  name  of  -^nobarbus,  rather 
than  his  assumed  one  of  Nero.  But  much  more  keenly 
he  resented  the  insulting  description  of  himself  as  a 
'  miserable  harper,'  appealing  to  all  about  him  whether 
they  had  ever  known  a  better,  and  oflFering  to  stake 
the  truth  of  all  the  other  charges  against  himself  upon 
the  accuracy  of  this  in  particular.  So  little  even  in 
Ihis  instance  was  he  alive  to  the  true  point  of  the 
insult ;  not  thinking  it  any  disgrace  that  a  Roman 
emperor  should  be  chiefly  known  to  the  world  in  the 
•haracter  of  a  harper,  but  only  if  he  should  happcF 


THE    C^SABS.  101 

lo  be  a  bad  one.  Even  in  these  days,  however,  im* 
perfect  as  were  the  means  of  travelling,  rebellion 
moved  somewhat  too  rapidly  to  allow  any  long  inter- 
val of  security  so  light-minded  as  this.  One  couriei 
followed  upon  the  heels  of  another,  until  he  felt  the 
aecessity  for  leaving  Naples ;  and  he  returned  to 
Rome,  as  the  historian  says,  prcetrepidus ;  by  which 
word,  however,  according  to  its  genuine  classical 
acceptation,  we  apprehend  is  not  meant  that  he  was 
highly  alarmed,  but  only  that  he  was  in  a  great  hurry. 
That  he  was  not  yet  under  any  real  alarm  (for  he 
trusted  in  certain  prophecies,  which,  like  those  made 
to  the  Scottish  tyrant  '  kept  the  promise  to  the  ear, 
but  broke  it  to  the  sense,')  is  pretty  evident  from  his 
conduct  on  reaching  the  capitol.  For,  without  any 
appeal  to  the  senate  or  the  people,  but  sending  out  a 
few  summonses  to  some  men  of  rank,  he  held  a  hasty 
council,  which  he  speedily  dismissed,  and  occupied 
the  rest  of  the  day  with  experiments  on  certain  musi- 
cal instruments  of  recent  invention,  in  which  the 
ieys  were  moved  by  hydraulic  contnvances.  He  had 
come  to  Rome,  it  appeared,  merely  from  a  sense  of 
decorum. 

Suddenly,  however,  arrived  news,  which  fell  upon 
uim  with  the  force  of  a  thunderbolt,  that  the  revolt 
liad  extended  to  the  Spanish  provinces,  and  was  head- 
ed by  Galba.  He  fainted  upon  hearing  this;  and 
Wling  to  the  ground,  lav  for  a  long  time  lifeless,  afl 


102  THE    CJESAES. 

it  seemed,  and  speechless.  Upon  coming  to  Uimsell 
again,  he  tore  his  robe,  struck  his  forehead,  and  ex- 
claimed aloud  —  that  for  him  all  was  over.  In  this 
agony  of  mind,  it  strikes  across  the  utter  darkness  of 
the  scene  with  the  sense  of  a  sudden  and  cheering 
flash,  recalling  to  us  the  possible  goodness  and  fidelity 
of  human  nature  —  when  we  read  that  one  humble 
creature  adhered  to  him,  and,  according  to  her  slender 
means,  gave  him  consolation  during  these  trying  mo- 
ments ;  this  was  the  woman  who  had  tended  his  infant 
years  ;  and  she  now  recalled  to  his  remembrance  such 
instances  of  former  princes  in  adversity,  as  appeared 
fitted  to  sustain  his  drooping  spirits.  It  seems,  how- 
ever, that,  according  to  the  general  course  of  violent 
emotions,  the  rebound  of  high  spirits  was  in  proportion 
to  his  first  despondency.  He  omitted  nothing  of  his 
usual  luxury  or  self-indulgence,  and  he  even  found 
spirits  for  going  incognito  to  the  theatre,  where  he  took 
suflBcient  interest  in  the  public  performances,  to  send 
a  message  to  a  favorite  actor.  At  times,  even  in  this 
"iopeless  situation,  his  native  ferocity  returned  upon 
him,  and  he  was  believed  to  have  framed  plans  for 
••emoving  all  his  enemies  at  once  —  the  leaders  of  the 
rebellion,  by  appointing  successors  to  their  offices. 
tnd  secretly  sending  assassins  to  dispatch  their  per- 
Bone  ;  the  senate,  by  poison  at  a  great  banquet ;  the 
Gaulish  provinces,  by  delivering  them  up  for  pillage 
to    the   army  ;    the  city,   by   again   setting   it  on   fire 


THE    C-i:SARS.  103 

(vhiist,  at  the  same  time,  a  vast  number  of  vild  beasta 
Has  to  have  been  turned  loose  upon  tbe  unarmed 
populace  —  for  the  double  purpose  of  destroying  them, 
and  of  distracting  their  attention  from  the  fire.  But, 
as  the  mood  of  his  frenzy  changed,  these  sanguinary 
schemes  were  abandoned,  (not,  however,  under  any 
feelings  of  remorse,  but  from  mere  despair  of  effecting 
them,)  and  on  the  same  day,  hut  after  a  luxurious  din- 
ner, the  imperial  monster  grew  bland  and  pathetic  in 
his  ideas  ;  he  would  proceed  to  the  rebellious  army  ; 
he  would  present  himself  unai'med  to  their  view  ;  and 
would  recall  them  to  their  duty  by  the  mere  spectacle 
of  his  tears.  Upon  the  pathos  with  which  he  would 
weep  he  was  resolved  to  rely  entirely.  And  having 
received  the  guilty  to  his  mercy  without  distinction, 
upon  the  following  day  he  would  unite  his  joy  with 
their  joy,  and  would  chant  hymns  of  victory  {epinicia) 

—  '  which  by  the  way,'  said  he,  suddenly,  breaking 
off  to  his  favorite  pursuits,  '  it  is  necessary  that  I 
should  immediately  compose.'  This  caprice  vanished 
like  the  rest ;  and  he  made  an  effort  to  enlist  the 
slaves  and  citizens  into  his  service,  and  to  raise  by 
extortion  a  large  military  chest.  But  in  the  midst  of 
•hese  vascillating  purposes  fresh  tidings  surprised  him 

—  other  armies  had  revolted,  and  the  rebellion  was 
ipreading  contagiously.  This  consummation  of  his 
alarms  reached  hirn  at  dinner  ;  and  the  expressions  of 
DJ9  angry  fears  took  even  a  scenical  air;   he  tore   the 


104  THE    C^SABS. 

dispatches,  upset  the  table,  and  dashed  to  pieces  upon 
the  ground  two  crystal  beakers  —  which  had  a  high 
value  as  works  of  art,  even  in  the  Aurea  Domus,  from 
the  sculptures  which  adorned  them. 

He  now  prepared  for  flight;  and  sending  forward 
commissioners  to  prepare  the  fleet  at  Ostia  for  his 
reception,  he  tampered  with  such  oflicers  of  the  army 
as  were  at  hand,  to  prevail  upon  them  to  accompany 
his  retreat.  But  all  showed  themselves  indisposed  to 
such  schemes,  and  some  flatly  refused.  Upon  which 
he  turned  to  other  counsels ;  sometimes  meditating  s 
flight  to  the  King  of  Parthia,  or  even  to  throw  himseli 
on  the  mercy  of  Galba ;  sometimes  inclining  rathei 
to  the  plan  of  venturing  into  the  forum  in  mourning 
apparel,  begging  pardon  for  his  past  oft'ences,  and,  as 
a  last  resource,  entreating  that  he  might  receive  the 
appointment  of  Egyptian  prefect.  This  plan,  however, 
|.e  hesitated  to  adopt,  from  some  apprehension  that 
^e  should  be  torn  to  pieces  in  his  road  to  the  forum ; 
und,  at  all  events,  he  concluded  to  postpone  it  to  the 
following  day.  Meantime  events  were  now  hurrying 
to  their  catastrophe,  which  for  ever  anticipated  that 
ntention.  His  hours  were  numbered,  and  the  closing 
Bcene  was  at  hand. 

In  the  middle  of  thu  night  he  was  aroused  from 
clumber  with  the  intelligence  that  the  military  guard, 
yho  did  duty  at  the  palace,  had  all  quitted  their  posts 
*7j>on  this  the  unhappy  prince  leaped  from  his  couch. 


THE    C^SARS.  105 

never  again  to  taste  the  luxury  of  s^eep,  and  dispatched 
messengers  to  his  friends.  No  answers  were  returned ; 
and  upon  that  he  went  personally  with  a  small  retinue 
to  their  hotels.  But  he  found  their  doors  everywhere 
closed ;  and  all  his  importunities  could  not  avail  to 
extort  an  answer.  Sadly  and  slowly  he  returned  to 
his  own  bedchamber ;  but  there  again  he  found  fresh 
instances  of  desertion,  which  had  occurred  during  his 
short  absence  ;  the  pages  of  his  bedchamber  had  fled, 
carrying  with  them  the  coverlids  of  the  imperial  bed, 
which  were  probably  inwrought  with  gold,  and  even  a 
golden  box,  in  which  Nero  had  on  the  preceding  day 
deposited  poison  prepared  against  the  last  extremity. 
Wounded  to  the  heart  by  this  general  desertion,  and 
perhaps  by  some  special  case  of  ingratitude,  such  as 
would  probably  enough  be  signalized  in  the  flight  of 
his  personal  favorites,  he  called  for  a  gladiator  of  the 
household  to  come  and  dispatch  him.  But  none  ap 
pearing  —  'What ! '  said  he,  '  have  I  neither  friend  noi 
foe  ? '  And  so  saying,  he  ran  towards  the  Tiber,  with 
the  purpose  of  drowning  himself.  But  that  paroxysm, 
like  all  the  rest,  proved  transient ;  and  he  expressed  a 
wish  for  some  hiding-place,  or  momentary  asylum, 
m  which  he  might  collect  his  unsettled  spirits,  and 
fortify  nis  wandering  resf^lution.  Such  a  retreat  wa? 
offered  him  by  his  Ubertus  Phaon,  in  his  own  rural 
villa,  about  four  miles  distant  from  Rome.  The  ofiei 
was  accepted ;   and  the  emperor,  without  further  pre 


106  THE    C^SARR. 

paration  than  that  of  throwing  over  his  person  a  sht^rl, 
tnantle  of  a  dusky  hue,  and  enveloping  his  head  and 
face  in  a  handkerchief,  mounted  his  horse,  and  left 
Eome  with  four  attendants.  It  was  still  night,  hut 
probably  verging  towards  the  early  dawn;  and  even 
at  that  hour  the  imperial  party  met  some  travellera 
on  their  way  to  Rome  (coming  up  no  doubt,^^  on  law 
business)  —  who  said,  as  they  passed,  '  These  men  are 
certainly  in  chase  of  Nero.'  Two  other  incidents,  of 
an  interesting  nature,  are  recorded  of  this  short  but 
memorable  ride :  at  one  point  of  the  road  the  shouts 
of  the  soldiery  assailed  their  ears  from  the  neighbor- 
ing encampment  of  Galba.  They  were  probably  thee 
getting  under  arms"  for  their  final  march  to  take  pos- 
session of  the  palace.  At  another  point,  an  accident 
occurred  of  a  more  unfortunate  kind,  but  so  natural 
and  so  well  circumstantiated,  that  it  serves  to  verify 
f-he  whole  narrative ;  a  dead  body  was  lying  on  the 
road,  at  which  the  emperor's  horse  started  so  violently 
as  nearly  to  dismount  his  rider,  and  under  the  diffi- 
culty of  the  moment  compelled  him  to  withdraw  the 
!a«nd  which  held  up  the  handkerchief,  and  suddenly  to 
expose  his  features.  Precisely  at  this  critical  moment 
t  happened  that  an  old  half-pay  officer  passed,  recog- 
nized the  emperor,  and  saluted  him.  Perhaps  it  was 
with,  some  pur])ose  of  applying  a  remedy  to  this  unfor- 
tunate rencontre,  that  the  party  dismounted  at  a  poin* 
»rhere  several  roads  met,  and  turned  their  horses  adrift 


THE    C-ESAK3.  107 

fcj  graze  at  will  amongst  the  furze  and  brambles. 
Their  own  purpose  was,  to  make  their  way  to  the  back 
of  the  villa;  but,  to  accomplish  that,  it  was  necessary 
that  they  should  first  cross  a  plantation  of  reeds,  from 
the  peculiar  state  of  which  they  found  themselves 
ob.iged  to  cover  successively  each  space  upon  which 
they  trode  with  parts  of  their  dress,  in  order  to  gain 
any  supportable  footing.  In  this  way,  and  contending 
with  such  hardships,  they  reached  at  length  the  postern 
side  of  the  villa.  Here  we  must  suppose  that  there 
was  no  regular  ingress ;  for,  after  waiting  until  an 
entrance  was  pierced,  it  seems  that  the  emperor  could 
avail  himself  of  it  in  no  more  dignified  posture,  than 
by  creeping  through  the  hole  on  his  hands  and  feet, 
{quadrupes per  angustias  receptus.) 

Now,  then,  after  such  anxiety,  alarm,  and  hardship, 
Nero  had  reached  a  quiet  rural  asylum.  But  for  the 
unfortunate  occurrence  of  his  horse's  alarm  with  the 
passing  of  the  soldier,  he  might  perhaps  have  counted 
on  a  respite  of  a  day  or  two  in  this  noiseless  and 
obscure  abode.  But  what  a  habitation  for  him  who 
was  yet  ruler  of  the  world  in  the  eye  of  law,  and 
even  de  facto  was  so,  had  any  fatal  accident  befallen 
his  aged  competitor !  The  room  in  which  (as  the  one 
most  removed  from  notice  and  suspicion)  he  had 
le^reted  himself,  was  &.  eel' a,  or  little  sleeping  closet 
ai  a  slave,  furnished  jnly  with  a  miserable  pallet  and 
a  -oarsq  rug.     Here  lay  the  lb  under  and  possessor   of 


108  THE    CJESAKS. 

the  Golden  House,  too  happy  if  he  might  hope  for  the 
peaceable  possession  even  of  this  miserable  crypt 
But  that,  he  knew  too  well,  was  impossible.  A  rival 
pretender  to  the  empire  was  like  the  plague  of  fiie  —  as 
dangerous  in  the  shape  of  a  single  spark  left  unextin- 
guished, as  in  that  of  a  prosperous  conflagration.  But 
a  few  brief  sands  yet  remained  to  run  in  the  emperor's 
hour-glass ;  much  variety  of  degradation  or  suffering 
seemed  scarcely  within  the  possibilities  of  his  situation, 
or  within  the  compass  of  the  time.  Yet,  as  though 
Providence  had  decreed  that  his  humiliation  should 
pass  through  every  shape,  and  speak  by  every  expression 
which  came  home  to  his  understanding,  or  was  intelli- 
gible to  his  senses,  even  in  these  few  moments  he  was 
attacked  by  hunger  and  thirst.  No  other  bread  could 
be  obtained  (or,  perhaps,  if  the  emperor's  presence 
were  concealed  from  the  household,  it  was  not  safe  to 
raise  suspicion  by  calling  for  better)  than  that  which 
was  ordinarily  given  to  slaves,  coarse,  black,  and,  to  a 
palate  so  luxurious,  doubtless  disgusting.  This  accord- 
ingly he  rejected;  but  a  litle  tepid  water  he  drank. 
After  which,  with  the  haste  of  one  who  fears  that  he 
may  be  prematurely  interrupted,  but  otherwise,  with 
all  the  reluctance  which  we  may  imagine,  and  which 
his  streaming  tears  proclaimed,  he  addressed  himself 
to  the  last  labor  in  which  he  supposed  himself  to  have 
uny  interest  on  this  earth  —  that  of  digging  a  grave 
pleasuring  a  space  adjusted  to  the  proportions  of  hit 


THE  cjEsxas.  109 

person,  he  inquired  anxiously  for  any  loose  fragments 
of  mai'ble,  such  as  might  suffice  to  line  it.  He  re- 
quested also  to  be  furnished  with  wood  ai^d  water,  as 
the  materials  for  the  last  sepulchral  rites.  And  these 
labors  were  accompanied,  or  continually  interrupted  by 
tears  and  lamentations,  or  by  passionate  ejaculations  on 
the  blindness  of  fortune,  iji  suffering  so  divine  an  artist 
to  be  thus  violently  snatched  away,  and  on  the  calami- 
tous fate  of  musical  science,  which  then  stood  on  the 
brink  of  so  dire  an  eclipse.  In  these  moments  he  was 
most  truly  in  an  agony,  according  to  the  original  mean- 
ing of  that  word ;  for  the  conflict  was  great  between 
two  master  principles  of  his  nature :  on  the  one  hand, 
he  clung  with  the  weakness  of  a  girl  to  life,  even  in 
that  miserable  shape  to  which  it  had  now  sunk  ;  and 
like  the  poor  malefactor,  with  whose  last  struggles 
Prior  has  so  atrociously  amused  himself,  '  he  often  took 
leave,  but  was  loath  to  depart.'  Yet,  on  the  other 
hand,  to  resign  his  life  very  speedily,  deemed  his  only 
chance  for  escaping  the  contumelies,  perhaps  the 
tortures  of  his  enemies ;  and,  above  all  other  consid- 
erations, for  making  sure  of  a  burial,  and  possibly  of 
burial  rites  ;  to  want  which,  in  the  judgment  of  the 
fcucients,  was  the  last  consummation  of  miseiy.  Thus 
Dccupied,  and  thus  distracted  —  sternly  attracted  to  the 
|rave  by  his  creed,  hideously  repelled  by  infirmity  of 
oature  —  he  was  suddenly  interrupted  by  a  co  irieT 
wi^i  letters  for  the  mas^^er  of  tne  house ;  letters,  and 


110  THE    CASAB8. 

from  Rome  !  What  was  their  import  ?  That  was 
Boon  told —■  briefly  that  Nero  was  adjudged  to  be  a 
public  enemy  by  the  senate,  and  that  official  orders 
were  issued  for  apprehending  him,  in  order  that  he 
might  be  brought  to  condign  punishment  according  to 
the  method  of  ancient  precedent.  Ancient  precedent  1 
more  majorem !  And  how  was  that  r  eagerly  de- 
manded the  emperor.  He  was  answered  —  that  the 
state  criminal  in  such  cases  was  first  stripped  naked, 
then  impaled  as  it  were  between  the  prongs  of  a  pitch- 
fork, and  in  that  condition  scourged  to  death.  Horror- 
struck  with  this  account,  he  drew  forth  two  poniards, 
or  short  swords,  tried  their  edges,  and  then,  in  utter 
imbecility  of  purpose,  returned  them  to  their  scabbards, 
alleging  that  the  destined  moment  had  not  yet  arrived. 
Then  he  called  upon  Sporus,  the  infamous  partner  in 
his  former  excesses,  to  commence  the  funeral  anthem. 
Others,  again,  he  besought  to  lead  the  way  in  dying, 
and  to  sustain  him  by  the  spectacle  of  their  example. 
But  this  purpose  also  he  dismissed  in  the  very  moment 
of  utterance ;  and  turning  away  despairingly,  he  apos- 
trophized himself  in  words  reproachful  or  animating, 
now  taxing  his  nature  with  infirmity  of  purpose,  now 
calling  on  himself  by  name,  with  adjurations  to  re- 
member his  dignity,  and  to  act  worthy  of  his  supreme 

station  :  o»'  noinei  NtQwYL,  cried  he,  ov  tiqLici  •  vi'jipur  Set  h 
loT?  Tiinrrotg  •    ays,   VynQi   ntavTov I.    C.     'Fie,    fie,    then, 

Nero !  such  a  season  calls  for  perfect  self-possessiniu 
Up,  then,  and  rouse  thyself  to  action.' 


THE    C^SAitS-  111 

Thus,  and  in  similar  eflforts  to  master  the  weakness 
of  his  reluctant  nature  —  weakness  which  would  ex- 
tort pity  from  the  severest  minds,  were  it  not  from  the 
r.dious  connection  which  in  him  it  had  with  cruelty  the 
most  merciless  —  did  this  unhappy  prince,  jam  non 
iaJutis  spem  sed  exitii  solatium  queer  ens,  consume  the 
flying  moments,  until  at  length  his  ears  caught  the 
fatal  sounds  or  echoes  from  a  body  of  horsemen  riding 
up  to  the  villa.  These  were  the  officers  charged  with 
his  arrest ;  and  if  he  should  fall  into  their  hands  alive, 
he  knew  that  his  last  chance  was  over  for  liberating 
himself,  by  a  Roman  death,  from  the  burthen  of  igno- 
minious life,  and  from  a  lingering  torture.  He  paused 
from  his  restless  motions,  listened  attentively,  then 
repeated  a  line  from  Homer  — 

'  Itttt u)i'  /a'  cokuttoScov  d/xt^i  ktuttos  ovara  ^dXXet  • 
(The  resoundinij  tread  of  swift-footed  horses  rever- 
berates upon  my  ears)  ;  —  then  under  some  momentary 
impulse  of  courage,  gained  perhaps  by  figuring  to  him- 
self the  bloody  populace  rioting  upon  his  mangled 
body,  yet  even  then  needing  the  auxiliary  hand  and 
vicarious  courage  cf  his  private  secretary,  the  feeble- 
hearted  prince  stabbed  himself  in  the  throat.  The 
wound,  however,  was  not  such  as  to  cause  instant 
death.  He  was  still  breathing,  and  not  quite  speech- 
less, when  the  centurion  who  commanded  the  party 
entered  the  closet ;  and  to  this  officer  who  uttered  a 
^w  hollow  words  of  encouragemeni,  he  was  still  able 


112  THE    C^SABS. 

to  make  a  brief  reply.  But  in  the  very  effort  of 
speaking  he  expired,  and  with  an  expression  of  horroi 
impressed  upon  his  stiffened  features,  waich  communi- 
cated a  sympathetic  horror  to  all  beholders. 

Such  was  the  too  memorable  tragedy  which  closed 
for  ever  the  brilliant  line  of  the  Julian  family,  and 
translated  the  august  title  of  Csesar  from  its  original 
purpose  as  a  proper  name  to  that  of  an  official  desig- 
nation. It  is  the  most  striking  instance  upon  record 
of  a  dramatic  and  extreme  vengeance  overtaking  ex- 
treme guUt :  for,  as  Nero  had  exhausted  the  utmost 
possibilities  of  crime,  so  it  may  be  affirmed  that  he 
drank  off  the  cup  of  suffering  to  the  very  extremity 
of  what  his  peculiar  nature  allowed.  And  in  no  life 
of  so  short  a  duration,  have  there  ever  been  crowded 
equal  extremities  of  gorgeous  prosperity  and  abject 
infamy.  It  may  be  added,  as  another  striking  illustra- 
tion of  the  rapid  mutability  and  revolutionary  excesses 
which  belonged  to  what  has  been  properly  called  the 
Roman  stratocracy  then  disposing  of  the  world,  that 
within  no  very  great  succession  of  weeks  that  same 
victorious  rebel,   the    Emperor  Galba,  at  whose    feet 

ro  had  been  self-immolated,  was  laid  a  murdered 
-orpse  in  the  same  identical  cell  which  had  witnessed 
sue  lingering  agonies  of  his  unhappy  victim.  This 
was  the  act  of  an  emancipated  slave,  anxious,  by  a 
vindictive  insult  to  the  remains  of  one  prince,  to  place 
on    record    his    gratitude   to   another.     '  So   runs   the 


THE    C^SARS.  lis 

irorld  away ! '     And  in  this  striking  way  is  retribu- 
tion sometimes  dispensed. 

In  the  sixth  Caesar  terminated  the  Julian  line.  The 
three  next  princes  in  the  succession  were  personally 
uninteresting ;  and  with  a  slight  reserve  in  favor  of 
Otho,  whose  motives  for  committing  suicide  (if  truly 
reported)  argue  great  nohility  of  mind/^  were  even 
brutal  in  the  tenor  of  their  lives  and  monstrous ; 
besides  that  the  extreme  brevity  of  their  several  reigns 
(all  three,  taken  conjunctly,  having  held  the  supreme 
power  for  no  more  than  twelve  months  and  twenty 
days)  dismisses  them  from  all  effectual  station  or  right 
to  a  separate  notice  in  the  line  of  Caesars.  Coming 
to  the  tenth  in  the  succession,  Vespasian,  and  his  two 
sons,  Titus  and  Domitian,  who  make  up  the  list  of 
the  twelve  Caesars,  as  they  are  usually  called,  we  find 
matter  for  deeper  political  meditation  and  subjects  of 
curious  research.  But  these  emperors  would  be  more 
properly  classed  with  the  five  who  succeeded  them  — 
Nerva,  Trajan,  Hadrian,  and  the  two  Anto nines  ;  after 
whom  comes  the  young  ruffian,  Commodus,  another 
Caligula  or  Nero,  from  whose  short  and  infamous 
reign  Gibbon  takes  up  his  tale  of  the  decline  of  the 
empire.  And  this  classification  would  probably  have 
prevailed,  had  not  the  very  curious  work  of  Suetonius, 
▼hose  own  life  and  period  of  observation  determined 
the  feries  and  cycle  of  his  subjects,  led  lo  a  difiereat 
iistribution.     But  as  it  is  evident  that,  m  the  sue- 


114  THJE    C^SARS. 

cession  of  the  first  twelve  Caesars,  the  six  latter  have 
no  connection  whatever  by  descent,  collaterally,  or 
otherwise,  with  the  six  first,  it  would  he  a  more 
logical  distribution  to  combine  them  according  to  the 
fortunes  of  the  state  itself,  and  the  succession  of  its 
prosperity  through  the  several  stages  of  splendor, 
declension,  revival,  and  final  decay.  Under  this  ar- 
rangement, the  first  seventeen  would  belong  to  the 
first  stage ;  Commodus  would  open  the  second ; 
Aurelian  down  to  Constantine  or  Julian  would  fill  the 
third ;  and  Juvian  to  Augustulus  would  bring  up  the 
melancholy  rear.  Meantime  it  will  be  proper,  after 
thus  briefly  throwing  our  eyes  over  the  monstrous 
atrocities  of  the  early  Caisars,  to  spend  a  few  lines  in 
examining  their  origin,  and  the  circumstances  which 
favored  their  growth.  For  a  mere  hunter  after  hidden 
or  forgotten  singularities  ;  a  lover  on  their  own  ac- 
count of  all  strange  perversities  and  freaks  of  nature, 
whether  in  action,  taste,  or  opinion  ;  for  a  collector 
ftnd  amateur  of  misgrowths  and  abortions  ;  for  a  Sue- 
tonius, in  short,  it  may  be  quite  enough  to  state  and 
to  arrange  his  cabinet  of  specimens  from  the  marvel- 
lous in  human  nature.  But  certainly  in  modern  times, 
any  historian,  however  little  afipcting  the  praise  of  a 
philosophic  investigator,  would  feel  himself  called 
upon  to  remove  a  little  the  taint  of  the  miraculous 
and  preternatural  which  adheres  to  such  anecdote* 
by  wintering  into  the   psychological   grounds  of  theiy 


TUB    CJESARS.  116 

possibility  ;  whether  lying  in  any  peculiarly  viciouB 
education,  early  familiarity  with  bad  models,  corrupt- 
ing associations,  or  other  plausible  key  to  effects,  which, 
taken  separately,  and  out  of  their  natural  connection 
with  their  explanatory  causes,  are  apt  rather  to  startle 
and  revolt  the  feelings  of  sober  thinkers.  Except, 
perhaps,  in  some  chapters  of  Italian  history,  as,  for 
example,  among  the  most  profligate  of  the  Papal 
houses,  and  amongst  some  of  the  Florentine  princes, 
we  find  hardly  any  parallel  to  the  atrocities  of  Calig- 
ula and  Nero  ;  nor  indeed  was  Tiberius  much  (if  at 
all)  behind  them,  though  otherwise  so  wary  and  cau- 
tious in  his  conduct.  The  same  tenor  of  licentiousness 
beyond  the  needs  of  the  individual,  the  same  craving 
tfter  the  marvellous  and  the  stupendous  in  guilt,  is 
continually  emerging  in  succeeding  emperors  —  in 
Vitellius,  in  Domitian,  in  Commodus,  in  Caracalla  — 
3verywhere,  in  short,  where  it  was  not  overruled  by 
one  of  two  causes,  either  by  original  goodness  of 
nature  too  powerful  to  be  mastered  by  ordinary  seduc- 
tions, (and  in  some  cases  removed  from  their  influence 
by  an  early  apprenticeship  to  camps,)  or  by  the  terrors 
of  an  exemplary  ruin  immediately  preceding.  For 
uuch  a  determinate  tendency  to  the  enormous  and  the 
anomalous,  sufficient  causes  must  exist.  What  were 
ttiey? 

In  the  first  place,  we  may  observe  '•hat  the  people 
«»f  Rome  in  that  age  were  generally  more   corrupt  by 


116  THE    C^SABS. 

many  degrees  ttan  has  been  usually  supposed  possi* 
ble.  The  eflfect  of  revolutionary  times,  to  relax  all 
modes  of  moral  obligation,  and  to  unsettle  the  mora* 
gense,  has  been  well  and  philosophically  stated  by  Mr. 
Coleridge  ;  but  that  would  hardly  account  for  the  utter 
lisentiousness  and  depravity  of  Imperial  Rome.  Look- 
ing back  to  Republican  Rome,  and  considering  the 
state  of  public  morals  but  fifty  years  before  the  em- 
perors, we  can  vnth.  diiBculty  believe  that  the  descend- 
ants of  a  people  so  severe  in  their  habits  could  thus 
i"apidly  degenerate,  and  that  a  populace,  once  so  hardy 
and  masculine,  should  assume  the  manners  which  we 
might  expect  in  the  debauchees  of  Daphne  (the  in- 
famous suburb  of  Antiochj  or  of  Canopus,  into  which 
settled  the  very  lees  and  dregs  of  the  vicious  Alexan- 
dria. Such  extreme  changes  would  falsify  all  that  we 
know  of  human  nature  ;  we  might,  a  priori,  pronounce 
them  impossible ;  and  in  fact,  upon  searching  history, 
we  find  other  modes  of  solving  the  difficulty.  In 
reality,  the  citizens  of  Rome  were  at  this  time  a  new 
race,  brought  together  from  every  quarter  of  the  world, 
but  especially  from  Asia.  So  vast  a  proportion  of 
the  ancient  citizens  had  been  cut  off  by  the  sword, 
and  partly  to  conceal  this  waste  of  population,  but 
much  more  by  way  of  cheaply  requiting  services,  or 
of  showing  favor,  or  of  acquiring  influence,  slaves 
had  been  emancipated  in  such  great  multitudes,  ana 
afterwards  invested  with   all    the   rights    of  citizens 


1B£     C^SARS.  117 

that,  in  a  single  generation,  Rome  became  almost 
transmuted  into  a  baser  metal ;  the  progeny  of  those 
whom  the  last  generation  had  purchased  from  the 
slave  merchants.  These  people  derived  their  stock 
chiefly  from  Cappadocia,  Pontus,  &c.,  and  the  other 
populous  regions  of  Asia  Minor  ;  and  hence  the  taint 
of  Asiatic  luxury  and  depravity,  which  was  so  con- 
spicuous to  all  the  Romans  of  the  old  republican 
severity.  Juvenal  is  to  be  understood  more  literally 
than  is  sometimes  supposed,  when  he  complains  that 
long  before  his  time  the  Orontes  (that  river  which 
washed  the  infamous  capital  of  Syria)  had  mingled 
its  impure  waters  with  those  of  the  Tiber.  And  a 
little  before  him,  Lucan  speaks  with  mere  historic 
gravity  when  he  says  — 

—^ '  Vivant  Galatseque  Syrique 

Cappadoces,  Gallique,  extremique  orbis  Iberi, 
Armenii,  Cilices  :  nam  post  civilia  bella 
Hie  Populus  Romanus  erit.'-^ 

Probably  in  the  time  of  Nero,  not  one  man  in  six 
was  of  pure  Roman  descent.^i  And  the  consequences 
were  suitable.  Scarcely  a  family  has  come  down  to 
our  knowledge  that  could  not  in  one  generation  enu- 
merate a  long  catalogue  of  divorces  within  its  own 
contracted  circle.  Every  man  had  married  a  series 
•  wives  ,  every  woman  a  series  of  husbands.  Even 
Ui  the  palace  of  Augustus,  who  wished  to  be  viewed 
M  an  exemplai    or    ideal  mode?    of  domestic    purity, 


ll8  THE    C-ESAR3. 

every  principal  member  of  his  family  was  tainted  in 
that  way  ;  himself  in  a  manner  and  a  degree  infamous 
even  at  that  time.^  For  the  first  400  years  of  Rome, 
not  one  divorce  had  been  granted  or  asked,  although 
the  statute  which  allowed  .of  this  indulgence  had 
always  been  in  force.  But  in  the  age  succeeding  to 
the  civil  wars,  men  and  women  '  married,'  says  one 
author,  '  with  a  view  to  divorce,  and  divorced  in  order 
to  marry.  Many  of  these  changes  happened  ^vithin 
the  year,  especially  if  the  lady  had  a  large  fortune, 
which  always  went  with  her  and  procured  her  choice 
of  transient  husbands.'  And,  '  can  one  imagine,' 
asks  the  same  writer,  '  that  the  fair  one  who  changed 
her  husband  every  quarter,  strictly  kept  her  matri- 
monial faith  all  the  three  months  ?  '  Thus  the  very 
fountain  of  all  the  '  household  charities  '  and  house- 
hold virtues  was  polluted.  And  after  that  we  need 
little  wonder  at  the  assassinations,  poisonings,  and 
forging  of  wills,  which  then  laid  waste  the  domestic 
life  of  the  Romans. 

2.  A  second  source  of  the  universal  depravity  was 
the  growing  inefficacy  of  the  public  religion  ;  and  this 
irose  from  its  disproportion  and  inadequacy  to  the 
;itellectual  advances  of  the  nation.  Religion,  in  its 
very  etymology,  has  been  held  to  imply  a  religatio, 
that  is,  a  reiterated  or  secondary  obligation  of  morals ; 
ft  sanction  supplementary  to  that  of  the  conscience. 
Now,  for  a  rude  and  uncultivated  prople,  the  Pagav 


THE    CJE8AKS.  119 

mythology  might  not  be  too  gross  to  discharge  the 
main  functions  of  a  useful  religion.  So  long  as  the 
iMiderstanding  could  submit  to  the  fables  of  the  Pagan 
creed,  so  long  it  was  possible  that  the  hopes  and  fears 
built  upon  that  creed  might  be  practically  efficient  on 
men's  lives  and  intentions.  But  when  the  foundation 
gave  way,  the  whole  superstructure  of  necessity  fell 
to  the  ground.  Those  who  were  obliged  to  reject  the 
ridiculous  legends  which  invested  the  whole  of  their 
Pantheon,  together  with  the  fabulous  adjudgers  of 
future  punishments,  could  not  but  dismiss  the  punish- 
ments, which  were,  in  fact,  as  laughable,  and  as 
obviously  the  fictions  of  human  ingenuity,  as  their 
dispensers.  In  short,  the  civilized  part  of  the  world 
in  those  days  lay  in  this  dreadful  condition  ;  their 
intellect  had  far  outgrown  their  religion  ;  the  dispro- 
portions between  the  two  were  at  length  become  mon- 
strous ;  and  as  yet  no  purer  or  more  elevated  faith 
was  prepared  for  their  acceptance.  The  case  was  as 
shocking  as  if,  with  our  present  intellectual  needs, 
we  should  be  unhappy  enough  to  have  no  creed  on 
vhich  to  rest  the  burden  of  our  final  hopes  and  fears, 
of  our  moral  obligations,  and  of  our  consolations  in 
misery,  except  the  fairy  mythology  of  our  nurses.  The 
condition  of  a  people  so  situated,  of  a  people  under 
the  calamity  c."  having  outgrown  its  religious  faith, 
oas  never  been  sufficiently  considered.  It  is  probable 
that  such  a  condition  has  never  existed  before  or  sincv 


l20  TEE    C^SABS. 

that  era  of  the  world.  The  consequences  to  Rome 
were  —  that  the  resisonins:  and  disputatious  purt  Oi 
her  population  took  refuge  from  the  painful  state  o£ 
doubt  in  Atheism  ;  amongst  the  thoughtless  and  irre- 
flective  the  consequences  were  chiefly  felt  in  their 
morals,  which  were  thus  sapped  in  their  foundation. 

3.  A  third  cause,  which  from  the  first  had  exercised 
a  most  baleful  influence  upon  the  arts  and  upon  litera- 
ture in  Rome,  had  by  this  time  matured  its  disastrous 
tendencies  towards  the  extinction  of  the  moral  sensibil- 
'ties.  This  was  the  circus,  and  the  whole  machinery, 
form  and  substance,  of  the  Circensian  shows.  Why 
had  tragedy  no  existence  as  a  part  of  the  Roman 
literature  ?  Because  —  and  that  was  a  reason  which 
would  have  sufficed  to  stifle  all  the  dramatic  genius 
of  Greece  and  England  —  there  was  too  much  tragedy 
in  the  shape  of  gross  reality,  almost  daily  before  their 
eyes.  The  amphitheatre  extinguished  the  theatre. 
How  was  it  possible  that  the  fine  and  intellectual 
griefs  of  the  drama  should  win  their  way  to  hearts 
seared  and  rendered  callous  by  the  continual  exhibi- 
tion of  scenes  the  most  hideous,  in  which  human 
blood  was  poured  out  like  water,  and  a  human  life 
sacrificed  at  any  moment  either  to  caprice  in  the 
populace,  or  to  a  strife  of  rivalry  between  the  ayes 
and  the  noes,  or  atA  the  penalty  for  any  trifiing  instance 
of  awkwardness  in  the  performer  himself?  Even  the 
more  innocent  exhibitions,  in  which  brutes  only  werf 


THE    Cjr.SABS.  121 

the  sufferers,  could  not  but  be  mortal  to  all  the  finer 
sensibilities.  Five  thousand  wild  animals,  torn  from 
their  native  abodes  in  the  wilderness  or  forest,  were 
often  turned  out  to  be  hunted,  or  for  mutual  slaughter, 
in  the  course  of  a  single  exhibition  of  this  natuiej 
and  it  sometimes  happened,  (a  fact  which  of  itself 
proclaims  the  course  of  the  public  propensities,)  that 
the  person  at  whose  expense  the  shows  were  exhibited, 
by  way  of  paying  special  court  to  the  people  and 
meriting  their  favor,  in  the  way  most  conspicuously 
open  to  him,  issued  orders  that  all,  without  a  solitary 
exception,  should  be  slaughtered.  He  made  it  known, 
as  the  very  highest  gratification  which  the  case  allowed, 
that  (in  the  language  of  our  modern  auctioneers)  the 
whole,  '  without  reserve,'  should  perish  before  their 
eyes.  Even  such  spectacles  must  have  hardened  the 
heart  and  blunted  the  more  delicate  sensibilities  ;  buft 
these  would  soon  cease  to  stimulate  the  pampered 
and  exhausted  sense.  From  the  combats  of  tigers  or 
.eopards,  in  which  the  passions  could  only  be  gathered 
indirectly,  and  by  way  of  inference  from  the  motions, 
the  transition  must  have  been  almost  inevitable  to 
those  of  men,  whose  nobler  and  more  varied  passions 
spoke  directly,  and  by  the  intelligible  language  of  the 
eye,  to  human  spectators  ;  and  from  the  frequent  con- 
templation of  these  authorized  murders,  in  which  a 
•rhole  people,  women  ^  as  much  as  men,  and  children 
Intermingled  with  both,  looked  on  with  leisurely  ir.dif- 


122  THE    CiESARS. 

ference,  with  anxious  expectation,  or  with  rapture  as 
delight,  whilst  below  them  were  passing  the  direct 
Bufferings  of  humanity,  and  not  seldom  its  dying 
pangs,  it  was  impossible  to  expect  a  result  different 
from  that  which  did  in  fact  take  place,  —  universal 
hardness  of  heart,  obdurate  depravity,  and  a  twofold 
degradation  of  human  nature,  which  acted  simultane- 
ously upon  the  two  pillars  of  morality,  (which  are 
otherwise  not  often  assailed  together,)  of  natural  sen- 
sibility in  the  first  place,  and  in  the  second,  of  consci- 
entious principle. 

4.  But  these  were  circumstances  which  applied  to 
the  whole  population  indiscriminately.  Superadded 
to  these,  in  the  case  of  the  emperor,  and  affecting 
him  exclusively,  was  this  prodigious  disadvantage  — 
that  ancient  reverence  for  the  immediate  witnesses 
of  his  actions,  and  for  the  people  and  senate  who 
would  under  other  circumstances  have  exercised  the 
old  functions  of  the  censor,  was,  as  to  the  emperor, 
pretty  nearly  obliterated.  The  very  title  of  imperator, 
from  which  we  have  derived  our  modern  one  of 
emperor,  proclaims  the  nature  of  the  government,  and 
the  tenure  of  that  office.  It  was  purely  a  government 
by  the  sword,  or  permanent  stratocracy,  having  a 
movable  head.  Never  was  there  a  people  who  inquired 
10  impertinently  as  the  Romans  into  the  domestic 
conduct  of  each  private  citizen.  No  rank  escaped 
this  jealous  vigilance  ;  and  private  liberty,  even  in  the 


THE    C£SARS.  123 

most  indifferent  circumstances  of  taste  or  expense, 
was  sacrificed  to  this  inquisitorial  rigor  of  surveillance, 
exercised  on  behalf  of  the  state,  sometimes  by  errone- 
ous patriotism,  too  often  by  malice  in  disguise.  To 
this  spirit  the  highest  public  officers  were  obliged  to 
bow ;  the  consuls,  not  less  than  others.  And  even 
the  occasional  dictator,  if  by  law  irresponsible,  acted 
nevertheless  as  one  who  knew  that  any  change  which 
depressed  his  party  might  eventually  abrogate  his 
privilege.  For  the  first  time  in  the  person  of  an 
imperator  was  seen  a  supreme  autocrat,  who  had  vir- 
tually and  effectively  all  the  irresponsibility  which  the 
law  assigned,  and  the  origin  of  his  office  presumed. 
Satisfied  to  know  that  he  possessed  such  power,  Au- 
gustus, as  much  from  natural  taste  as  policy,  was  glad 
to  dissemble  it,  and  by  every  means  to  withdraw  it 
from  public  notice.  But  he  had  passed  his  youth  as 
citizen  of  a  republic  ;  and  in  the  state  of  transition  to 
autocracy,  in  his  office  of  triumvir,  had  experimentally 
known  the  perils  of  rivalship,  and  the  pains  of  foreign 
control,  too  feelingly  to  provoke  unnecessarily  any 
•bleeping  embers  of  the  republican  spirit.  Tiberius, 
though  familiar  from  his  infancy  with  the  servile 
homage  of  a  court,  was  yet  modified  by  the  popular 
temper  of  Augustus ;  and  he  came  late  to  the  throne. 
Caligula  was  the  first  prince  on  whom  the  entire  effect 
of  his  political  situation  was  alio  wee"  to  operate  ;  and 
the  natural  results  were  seen  —  he  was  the  first  abso' 


124  THE    CJESABS. 

lute  monster.  He  must  early  have  seen  the  reali 
ties  of  his  position,  and  from  what  quai'ter  it  was  that 
any  cloud  could  arise  to  menace  his  security.  To 
the  senate  or  people  any  respect  which  he  might  think 
proper  to  pay,  must  have  heen  imputed  by  all  parties 
to  the  lingering  superstitions  of  custom,  to  involuntary 
habit,  to  court  dissimulation,  or  to  the  decencies  of 
external  form,  and  the  prescriptive  reverence  of  ancient 
names.  But  neither  senate  nor  people  could  enforce 
their  claims,  whatever  they  might  happen  to  be. 
Their  sanction  and  ratifying  vote  might  be  worth 
having,  as  consecrating  what  was  already  secure,  and 
conciliating  the  scruples  of  the  weak  to  the  absolute 
decision  of  the  strong.  But  their  resistance,  as  an 
original  movement,  was  so  wholly  without  hope,  that 
they  were  never  weak  enough  to  threaten  it. 

The  army  was  the  true  successor  to  their  places, 
being  the  ultimate  depository  of  power.  Yet,  as  the 
army  was  necessarily  subdivided,  as  the  shifting  cir- 
cumstances upon  every  frontier  were  continually 
varying  the  strength  of  the  several  divisions  as  to 
numbers  and  state  of  discipline,  one  part  might  be 
balanced  against  the  other  by  an  imperator  standing 
in  the  centre  of  the  whole.  The  rigor  of  the  military 
tacramentum,  or  oath  of  allegiance,  made  it  dangerous 
to  offer  the  first  overtures  to  rebellion  ;  and  the  money, 
which  the  soldiers  were  continually  depositing  in  the 
bank,  placed  at  the  foot  of  their  military  standards,  if 


THE    CM8A.Ra.  12fi 

lometimes  turned  against  the  emperor,  was  also 
liable  to  be  sequestrated  in  bis  favor.  There  were 
then,  in  fact,  two  great  forces  in  the  government 
acting  in  and  by  each  other  —  the  Stratocracy,  ani 
iJLc  Autocracy.  Each  needed  the  other  ;  each  stood 
in  awe  of  each.  But,  as  regarded  all  other  forces 
in  the  empire,  constitutional  or  irregular,  popular  or 
Benatorial,  neither  had  anything  to  fear.  Under  any 
ordinary  circumstances,  therefore,  considering  the 
hazards  of  a  rebellion,  the  emperor  was  substantially 
liberated  from  all  control.  "Vexations  or  outragea 
upon  the  populace  were  not  such  to  the  army.  It 
was  but  rarely  that  the  soldier  participated  in  the 
emotions  of  the  citizen.  And  thus,  being  effectually 
without  check,  the  most  vicious  of  the  Caesars  went 
on  without  fear,  presuming  upon  the  weakness  of  one 
part  of  his  subjects,  and  the  indifference  of  the  other, 
until  he  was  tempted  onwards  to  atrocities,  which 
armed  against  him  the  common  feelings  of  human 
nature,  and  al\  mankind,  as  it  were,  rose  in  a  body 
with  one  voice,  and  apparently  with  one  heart,  united 
by  mere  force  of  indignant  sympathj,  to  put  him 
lown,  and  'abate'  him  as  a  monster.  But,  until  he 
brought  matters  to  this  extremity,  Csesar  had  no  cause 
Vo  fear.  Nor  was  u  at  all  certain,  in  any  one 
lastance,  where  this  exemplary  chastisement  overtook 
lim,  that  the  apparent  unanimity  of  the  actors  wenf 
fiirther   than   the    practical    conclusion    of   'abating 


126  THK     C-ESARS. 

the  inn/erial  nuisance,  or  that  their  indignation  had 
settled  upon  the  same  offences.  In  general,  the  army 
measured  the  guilt  by  the  public  scandal,  rather  than 
by  its  moral  atrocity  ;  and  Caesar  suffered  perhaps  in 
3very  case,  not  so  much  bocause  he  had  violated  his 
duties,  as  because  he  had  dishonored  his  office. 

It  is,  therefore,  in  the  total  absence  of  the  checks 
which  have  almost  universally  existed  to  control  other 
despots,  under  some  indirect  shape,  even  where  none 
was  provided  by  the  laws,  that  we  must  seek  for  the 
main  peculiarity  affecting  the  condition  of  the  Roman 
CsBsar,  which   peculiarity  it  was,   superadded    to    the 
other  three,  that  finally  made  those  three  operative  in 
their   fullest    extent.     It    is  in   the  perfection    of   the 
stratocracy    that    we  must  look  for   the    key   to     the 
excesses   of  the  autocrat.     Even   in  the  bloody   des- 
potisms   of    the    Barbary   States,     there    has    always 
existed  in  the  religious  prejudices  of  the  people,  which 
could  not  be  violated   with    safety,  one    check   more 
upon    the    caprices  of  the  despot  than   was  found  at 
Rome.     Upon  the  whole,   therefore,   what  affects  us 
on  the  first  reading  as  a  prodigy  or  anomaly  in  the 
frantic  outrages  of  the  early  Caesars  —  falls  within  the 
natural    bounds   of  intelligible   human   nature,    w^hen 
we   state   the   case    considerately.     Surrounded   by   a 
population  which  had  not  only  gone  through  a  most 
vicious  and  corrupting  discipline,  and  had  been  utterly 
mined  by  the  license  of  revolutionary  times,  and  tht 


THE    CiBSARS.  121 

bloodiest  proscriptions,  but  had  even  been  extensively 
changed  in  its  very  elements,  and  from  the  descend- 
ants of  Romulus  had  been  transmuted  into  an  Asiatic 
mob :  —  starting  from  this  point,  and  considering  as 
the  second  feature  of  the  case,  that  this  transfigured 
people,  morally  so  degenerate,  were  carried,  however, 
by  the  progress  of  civilization,  to  a  certain  intellectual 
altitude,  which  the  popular  religion  had  not  strength 
to  ascend  —  but  from  inherent  disproportion  remained 
&t  the  base  of  the  general  civilization,  incapable  of 
fcccompanying  the  other  elements  in  their  advance  ;  — 
thirdly,  that  this  polished  condition  of  society,  which 
should  naturally  with  the  evils  of  a  luxurious  repose 
have  counted  upon  its  pacific  benefits,  had  yet,  by 
means  of  its  circus  and  its  gladiatorial  contests,  applied 
a  constant  irritation,  and  a  system  of  provocations  to 
the  appetites  for  blood,  such  as  in  all  other  nations  are 
connected  with  the  rudest  stages  of  society,  and  with 
the  most  barbarous  modes  of  warfare,  nor  even  in  such 
circumstances,  without  many  palliatives  wanting  to 
the  spectators  of  the  circus ;  —  combining  these  con- 
Biderations,  we  have  already  a  key  to  the  enormitie? 
and  hideous  excesses  of  the  Roman  Imperator.  The 
ot  blood  which  excites,  and  the  adventurous  courage 
which  accompanies,  the  excesses  of  sanguinary  warfare, 
presuppose  a  condition  of  the  moral  nature  not  to  be 
tompared  for  malignity  and  baleful  tendency  to  the 
lool  and  cowardly  spu\t  of  amatcrship,  in  which  thf 


128  THE    C^SARS. 

Roman  (perhaps  an  effeminate  Asiatic)  sat  looking 
down  upon  the  bravest  of  men,  (Thracians  or  other 
Europeans,)  mangling  each  other  for  his  recreation. 
When,  lastly,  from  such  a  population,  and  thus  disci- 
plined from  his  nursery  days,  we  suppose  the  case  of 
one  individual  selected,  privileged,  and  raised  to  a 
conscious  irresponsibility,  except  at  the  bar  of  one 
extra-judicial  tribunal,  not  easily  irritated,  and  noto- 
riously to  be  propitiated  by  other  means  than  those  of 
upright  or  impartial  conduct,  we  lay  together  the 
elements  of  a  situation  too  trying  for  poor  human 
nature,  and  fitted  only  to  the  faculties  of  an  angel  or 
a  demon ;  of  an  angel,  if  we  suppose  him  to  resist  its 
full  temptations ;  of  a  demon,  if  we  suppose  him  to  use 
its  total  opportunities.  Thus  interpreted  and  solved, 
Caligula  and  Nero  become  ordinary  men. 

But,  finally,  what  if,  after  all,  the  worst  of  the 
Caesars,  and  those  in  particular,  were  entitled  to  the 
benefit  of  a  still  shorter  and  more  conclusive  apology  ? 
Vhat  if,  in  a  true  medical  sense,  they  were  insane? 
.t  is  certain  that  a  vein  of  madness  ran  in  the  family ; 
tnd  anecdotes  are  recorded  of  the  three  worst,  which 
go  far  to  establish  it  as  a  fact,  and  others  which  would 
.mply  it  as  symptoms  —  preceding  or  accompanying. 
As  belonging  to  the  former  class,  take  the  following 
itory :  At  midnight  an  elderly  gentleman  suddenly 
•ends  round  a  message  to  a  select  party  of  noblemen, 
rouBcs  them  out  of  bed,  and  sunmxons  them  instanth 


THE    C.£SARS.  129 

to  his  palace.  Trembling  for  their  lives  from  the 
BUddenness  of  the  summons,  and  from  the  unsea* 
Bonable  hour,  and  scarcely  doubting  that  by  some 
anonymous  delator  they  have  been  implicated  as 
parties  to  a  conspiracy,  they  hurry  to  the  palace  — 
are  received  in  portentous  silence  by  the  ushers  and 
pages  in  attendance  —  are  conducted  to  a  saloon, 
where  (as  in  everywhere  else)  the  sUence  of  night 
prevails,  united  with  the  silence  of  fear  and  whispering 
expectation.  All  are  seated  —  all  look  at  each  other 
in  ominous  anxiety.  Which  is  accuser  ?  Which  is 
the  accused?  On  whom  shall  their  suspicions  settle 
—  on  whom  their  pity?  All  are  silent  —  almost 
speechless  —  and  even  the  current  of  their  thoughts  is 
frost-bound  by  fear.  Suddenly  the  sound  of  a  fiddle 
or  a  viol  is  caught  from  a  distance  —  it  swells  upon 
the  ear  —  steps  approach  —  and  in  another  moment 
in  rushes  the  elderly  gentleman,  grave  and  gloomy 
RS  his  audience,  but  capering  about  in  a  frenzy  of 
excitement.  For  half  an  hour  he  continues  to  perform 
all  possible  evolutions  of  caprioles,  pirouettes,  and 
other  extravagant  feats  of  activity,  accompanying 
himself  on  the  fiddle;  and,  at  length,  not  having 
once  looked  at  his  gues*s,  the  elderly  gentleman 
whirls  out  of  the  room  in  the  same  transport  of 
emotion  with  which  he  entered  it ;  the  panic-struck 
visitors  are  requested  by  a  slave  to  consider  themselves 
u  dismissed:   they  retire    resume   their   couches:  — 


130  THE    C^SABB. 

the  nocturnal  pageant  has  '  dislimned  '  and  vanished  ; 
and  on  the  following  morning,  were  it  not  for  theii 
concurring  testimonies,  all  would  be  disposed  to  take 
this  interruption  of  their  sleep  for  one  of  its  most 
fantastic  dreams.  The  elderly  gentleman  who  fig- 
ured in  this  delirious  pas  seul  —  whu  ,vas  he  ?  He 
w^as  Tiberius  Caesar,  king  of  kings,  and  lord  of  the 
terraqueous  globe.  Would  a  British  jury  demand 
better  evidence  than  this  of  a  disturbed  intellect  in 
any  formal  process  de  lunalico  ivquirendo  ?  For 
Caligula,  again,  the  evidence  of  symptoms  is  still 
plainer.  He  knew  his  own  defect;  and  proposed 
going  through  a  course  of  hellebore.  Sleeplessness, 
one  of  the  commonest  indications  of  lunacy,  haunted 
him  in  an  excess  rarely  recorded.-^  The  same,  or 
similar  facts,  might  be  brought  forward  on  behalf  of 
Nero.  And  thus  these  unfortunate  princes,  who  have 
80  long  (and  with  so  little  investigation  of  their  cases) 
passed  for  monsters  or  for  demoniac  counterfeits  of 
men,  would  at  length  be  brought  back  within  the  fold 
of  humanity,  as  objects  rather  of  pity  than  of  abhor- 
rence, would  be  reconciled  to  our  indulgent  feelings 
fcnd,  at  the  same  time,  made  intelligible  to  our  under 
standings. 


THE    C^SARS.  iSl 


CHAPTER   IV. 

The  five  Caesars^  who  sixcceeded  immediately  o  the 
first  twelve,  were,  in  as  high  a  sense  as  their  offica 
allowed,  patriots.  Hadrian  is  perhaps  the  first  of  all 
whom  circumstances  permitted  to  show  his  patiotisra 
without  fear.  It  illustrates  at  one  and  the  same 
moment  a  trait  in  this  emperor's  character,  and  in  the 
Roman  habits,  that  he  acquired  much  reputation  for 
hardiness  by  walking  bareheaded.  '  Never,  on  any 
occasion,'  says  one  of  his  memorialists  (Dio),  'neither 
in  summer  heat  nor  in  winter's  cold,  did  he  cover  his 
head ;  but,  as  well  in  the  Celtic  snows  as  in  Egyptian 
beats,  he  went  about  bareheaded,'  This  anecdote 
could  not  fail  to  win  the  especial  admiration  of  Isaac 
Casaubon,  who  lived  in  an  age  when  men  believed  a 
hat  no  less  indispensable  to  the  head,  even  within 
doors,  than  shoes  or  stockings  to  the  feet.  His  aston- 
ishment on  the  occasion  is  thus  expressed :  '  Tantura 
iSt,  »/  uaxtjoii : '  such  and  so  mighty  is  the  force  of  habit 
aad  daily  use.  And  then  he  goes  on  to  ask  —  '  Quia 
hodie  nudum  caput  radiis  solis,  aut  omnia  perurenti 
(rigori,  ausit  exponere  ? '  Yet  we  ourselves  and  our 
illustrious  friend,  Christopher  North,  have  walked  foi 
^irenty  years  amongst  our  British  lakes  and  mountains 


132  THE    C.£SAR3. 

hatless,  and  amidst  botli  snow  and  rain,  such  as  Ro- 
mans did  not  often  experience.  We  were  naked,  and 
yet  not  ashamed.  Nor  in  this  are  we  altogether  singu- 
lar. But,  says  Casaubon,  the  Romans  went  farther ; 
for  they  walked  about  the  streets  of  Rome^  bard- 
headed,  and  never  assumed  a  hat  or  a  cap,  a  petasus  &i 
a  galerus,  a  Macedonian  causia,  or  a  pileus,  whether 
Thessalian,  Arcadian  or  Laconic,  unless  when  they 
entered  upon  a  journey.  Nay,  some  there  were,  as 
Masinissa  and  Julius  Caesar,  who  declined  even  on 
such  an  occasion  to  cover  their  heads.  Perhaps  in 
imitation  of  these  celebrated  leaders,  Hadrian  adopted 
the  same  practice,  but  not  with  the  same  result ;  for  to 
him,  either  from  age  or  constitution,  this  very  custom 
proved  the  original  occasion  of  his  last  illness. 

Imitation,  indeed,  was  a  general  principle  of  action 
with  Hadrian,  and  the  key  to  much  of  his  public 
conduct ;  and  allowably  enough,  considering  the  ex- 
emplary lives  (in  a  public  sense)  of  some  who  had 
preceded  him,  and  the  singular  anxiety  with  which  he 
distinguished  between  the  lights  and  shadows  of  their 
examples.  He  imitated  the  great  Dictator,  Julius,  in 
his  vigilance  of  inspection  into  the  civil,  not  less  than 
the  martial  police  of  his  times,  shaping  his  new  regu- 
lations  to  meet  abuses  as  they  arose,  and  strenuously 
maintaining  the  old  ones  in  vigorous  operation.  A 
respected  the  army,  this  was  matter  of  peculiar  praise 
because  peculiarly  disinterested ;  for  his  foreign  polic 


THE    C£SA.B8.  133 

was  pacific  ;  ^  he  made  no  new  conquests :  and  he 
retired  from  the  old  ones  of  Trojan,  where  they  could 
not  have  been  maintained  without  disproportionate 
bloodshed,  or  a  jealousy  beyond  the  value  of  the  stake. 
In  this  point  of  his  administration  he  took  Augustus 
for  his  model ;  as  again  in  his  care  of  the  army,  in  hia 
occasional  bounties,  and  in  his  paternal  solicitude  foi 
their  comforts,  he  looked  rather  to  the  example  of  Julius. 
Him  also  he  imitated  in  his  affability  and  in  his  ambi- 
tious courtesies ;  one  instance  of  which,  as  blending 
an  artifice  of  political  subtlety  and  simulation  with  a 
remarkable  exertion  of  memory,  it  may  be  well  to 
mention.  The  custom  was,  in  canvassing  the  citizens 
of  Rome,  that  the  candidate  should  address  every  voter 
by  his  name ;  it  was  a  fiction  of  republican  etiquette, 
that  every  man  participating  in  the  political  privileges 
of  the  State  must  be  personally  known  to  public  aspi- 
rants. But,  as  this  was  supposed  to  be,  in  a  literal 
sense,  impossible  to  all  men  with  the  ordinary  endow- 
ments of  memory,  in  order  to  reconcile  the  pretensions 
of  republican  hauteur  with  the  necessities  of  human 
weakness,  a  custom  had  grown  up  of  relying  upon 
ti  class  of  men  called  nomenrlalors,  whose  express 
business  and  profession  it  was  to  make  themselves 
tcquainted  with  the  person  and  name  of  every  citizen. 
One  of  these  p'^ople  accompanied  every  candidate,  and 
quietly  whispered  into  hi''  ear  tne  name  of  each  votei 
«s  he   came   in  sight.     Few,   .ndeed,  "vere  they  who 


i34  THE    C^SABS. 

could  dispense  with  the  services  of  such  an  assessor ; 
for  the  office  imposed  a  twofold  memory,  that  of 
names  and  of  persons ;  and  to  estimate  the  immensity 
of  the  effort,  we  must  recollect  that  the  number  of 
voters  often  far  exceed  one  quarter  of  a  million. 
The  very  same  trial  of  memory  he  undertook  with 
respect  to  his  own  army,  in  this  instance  recalling  the 
well  known  feat  of  Mithridates,  And  throughout  his 
life  he  did  not  once  forget  the  face  or  name  of  any 
veteran  soldier  whom  he  had  ever  occasion  to  notice, 
no  matter  under  what  remote  climate,  or  under  what 
difference  of  circumstances.  Wonderful  is  the  effect 
upon  soldiers  of  such  enduring  and  separate  remem- 
brance, which  operates  always  as  the  most  touching 
kind  of  personal  flattery,  and  which,  in  every  age  of 
the  world,  since  the  social  sensibilities  of  men  have 
been  much  developed,  military  commanders  are  found 
to  have  played  upon  as  the  most  effectual  chord  in  the 
great  system  which  they  modulated ;  some  few,  by  a 
rare  endowment  of  nature ;  others,  as  Napoleon  Bona- 
Darte,  by  elaborate  mimicries  of  pantomimic  art.^ 

Other  modes  he  had  of  winning  affection  from  the 
army ;  in  particular  that,  so  often  practised  before  and 
iince.  of  accommodating  himself  to  the  strictest  ritual 
of  martial  discipline  and  castrensian  life.  He  slept  in 
the  open  air,  or,  if  he  used  a  tent  (papilio),  it  waa 
open  at  the  sides.  He  ate  the  ordinary  rations  o 
cheese,  bacon,  &c. ;   he   used  no  other  drink  than  thai 


THE    CiESABS.  135 

composition  of  viiiegar  and  water,  known  by  the  nam* 
of  posca,  which  formed  the  sole  beverage  allowed  in  the 
Roman  camps.  He  joined  personally  in  the  periodical 
exercises  of  the  army  —  those  even  which  were  trying 
to  the  most  vigorous  youth  and  health  :  marching,  for 
example,  on  stated  occasions,  twenty  English  miles 
without  intermission,  in  full  armor  and  completely 
accoutred.  Luxury  of  every  kind  he  not  only  inter- 
dicted to  the  soldier  by  severe  ordinances,  himself 
enforcing  theii-  execution,  but  discountenanced  it 
(though  elsewhere  splendid  and  even  gorgeous  in  his 
personal  habits)  by  his  own  continual  example.  In 
dress, 'for  instance,  he  sternly  banished  the  purple  and 
gold  embroideries,  the  jewelled  arms,  and  the  floating 
di'aperies,  so  little  in  accordance  with  the  severe  char- 
acter of  '  war  in  procinct.'  ^  Hardly  would  he  allow 
himself  an  ivory  hilt  to  his  sabre.  The  same  severe 
proscription  he  extended  to  every  sort  of  furniture,  or 
decorations  of  art,  which  sheltered  even  in  the  bosom 
of  camps  those  habits  of  efieminate  luxury  —  so  apt  in 
all  great  empires  to  steal  by  imperceptible  steps  from 
the  voluptuous  palace  to  the  soldier's  tent  —  following 
in  the  equipage  of  great  leading  officers,  or  of  subal- 
terns highly  connected.  There  was  at  that  time  a 
practice  prevailing,  in  the  great  standing  camps  on  the 
•everal  frontiers  and  at  all  tLe  military  stations,  of  re- 
tewing  as  much  as  possible  the  image  of  distant  Rome 
by   the    erection    of  long   colonnades    and    piazzas  — 


136  THE    CXSAE8. 

single,  double,  or  triple ;  of  crypts,  or  subterranean  * 
saloons,  (and  sometimes  subterranean  galleries  and 
corridors,)  for  evading  the  sultry  noontides  of  July  and 
August ;  of  verdant  cloisters  or  arcades,  with  roofs 
high  over-arched,  constructed  entirely  out  of  flexile 
shrubs,  box-myrtle,  and  others,  trained  and  trimmed  in 
regular  forms  ;  besides  endless  other  applications  of  the 
topiary  ^^  art,  which  in  those  days  (like  the  needlework 
of  Miss  Linwood^^  in  ours),  though  no  more  than  a 
mechanic  craft,  in  some  measure  realized  the  effects  of 
a  fine  art  by  the  perfect  skill  of  its  execution.  Ali 
these  modes  of  luxury,  with  a  policy  that  had  the  more 
merit  as  it  thwarted  his  own  private  inclinations,  did 
Hadrian  peremptorily  abolish  ;  perhaps  amongst  other 
more  obvious  purposes,  seeking  to  intercept  the  earliest 
buddings  of  those  local  attachments  which  are  as  inju- 
rious to  the  martial  character  and  the  proper  pui'suita 
of  men  whose  vocation  obliges  them  to  consider  them- 
selves eternally  under  marching  orders,  as  they  ara 
propitious  to  all  the  best  interests  of  society  in  connec- 
tion with  the  feelings  of  civic  life. 

We  dwell  upon  this  prince  not  without  reason  i^ 
this  particular ;  for,  amongst  the  Caesars,  Hadrian 
stands  forward  in  high  relief  as  a  reformer  of  the  army. 
Well  and  truly  might  it  be  said  of  him  —  that,  post 
CcBsarem  Octavianum  lahantem  disciplinam,  incurid 
tuperiorum  principum,  ipse  retinuii.  Not  conten* 
writh  the  cleansing  and  purgations  we  have  mentioned. 


THE    C^SABS.  18) 

he  placed  upon  a  new  footing  the  wnole  tenure,  datiea, 
and  pledges  of  nulitary  offices.^  It  cannot  much  sur 
prise  us  that  this  department  of  the  public  service 
should  gradually  have  gone  to  ruin  or  decay.  Under 
the  senate  and  people,  under  the  auspices  of  those 
awful  symbols  —  letters  more  significant  and  ominous 
than  ever-before  had  troubled  the  eyea  of  man,  except 
upon  Belshazzar's  wall —  S.  P.  Q.  E..,  the  officers  of 
the  Roman  army  had  been  kept  true  to  their  duties, 
and  vigilant  by  emulation  and  a  healthy  ambition. 
But,  when  the  ripeness  of  corruption  had  by  dissolving 
the  body  of  the  State  brought  out  of  its  ashes  a  new 
mode  of  life,  and  had  recast  the  aristocratic  republic, 
by  aid  of  its  democratic  elements  then  suddenly  vic- 
torious, into  a  pure  autocracy  —  whatever  might  be 
the  advantages  in  other  respects  of  this  great  change, 
in  one  point  it  had  certainly  injured  the  public  service, 
by  throwing  the  higher  military  appointments,  all  in 
fact  which  conferred  any  authority,  into  the  channels 
of  court  favor  —  and  by  consequence  into  a  mercenary 
disposal.  Each  successive  emperor  had  been  too 
anxious  for  his  own  immediate  security,  to  find  leisure 
for  the  remoter  interests  of  the  empire  :  all  looked  to 
the  army,  as  it  were,  for  their  own  immediate  security 
against  competitors,  without  venturing  to  tamper  with 
its  constitution,  to  risk  popularity  by  reforming  abuses, 
to  balance  present  interest  against  a  remote  one,  or  to 
tultivate  the  public  welfare  at  tne  hazard  of  their  own* 


1 38  THE    CESARS. 

contented  with  obtaining  that,  they  left  the  internal 
arrangements  of  so  formidable  a  body  in  the  state  to 
which  circumstances  had  brought  it,  and  to  which 
naturally  the  views  of  all  existing  beneficiaries  had 
gradually  adjusted  themselves.  What  these  might  be, 
and  to  what  further  results  they  might  tend,  was  a 
matter  of  moment  doubtless  to  the  empire.  But  the 
empire  was  strong  ;  if  its  motive  energy  was  decaying, 
its  vis  inertice  was  for  ages  enormous,  and  could  stand 
up  against  assaults  repeated  for  many  ages :  whilst  the 
emperor  was  in  the  beginning  of  his  authority  weak, 
and  pledged  by  instant  interest,  no  less  than  by  express 
promises,  to  the  support  of  that  body  whose  favor  had 
Mubstantially  supported  himself.  Hadrian  was  the  first 
who  turned  his  attention  effectually  in  that  direction ; 
whether  it  were  that  he  first  was  struck  with  the 
tendency  of  the  abuses,  or  that  he  valued  the  hazard 
less  which  he  incurred  in  correcting  them,  or  that 
having  no  successor  of  his  own  blood,  he  had  a  less 
personal  and  affecting  interest  at  stake  in  setting  this 
hazard  at  defiance.  Hitherto,  the  highest  regimental 
rank,  that  of  tribune,  had  been  disposed  of  in  two 
ways,  either  civilly  upon  popular  favor  and  election,  or 
tpon  the  express  recommendation  of  the  soldiery.  This 
I  us  torn  had  prevailed  under  the  republic,  and  the  force 
of  habit  had  availed  to  propagate  that  practice  under  a 
new  mode  of  government.  But  now  were  introduced 
new  regulations :  the  tribune  was  selected  for  his  mili* 


THE    CiESABS.  139 

lary  qualities  and  experience  :  none  was  appointed  tc 
this  important  office,  ^  nisi  barbd  plena.'  The  cen- 
turion's truncheon,^  again,  was  given  to  no  man, 
^nisi  robusto  et  bona  famce.'  The  arms  and  military 
appointments  {supellectilis)  were  revised  ;  the  register 
of  names  was  duly  called  over ;  and  none  sufiered  to 
remain  in  the  camps  who  was  either  above  or  below 
the  military  age.  The  same  vigilance  and  jealousy 
were  extended  to  the  great  stationary  stores  and  reposi- 
tories of  biscuit,  vinegar,  and  other  equipments  for  the 
soldiery.  All  things  were  in  constant  readiness  in  the 
capital  and  the  provinces,  in  the  garrisons  and  camps, 
abroad  and  at  home,  to  meet  the  outbreak  of  a  foreign 
war  or  a  domestic  sedition.  Whatever  were  the  ser- 
vice, it  could  by  no  possibility  find  Hadrian  unprepared. 
And  he  first,  in  fact,  of  all  the  Caesars,  restored  to  its 
ancient  republican  standard,  as  reformed  and  perfected 
by  Narius,  the  old  martial  discipline  of  the  Scipios  and 
the  Paulli  —  that  discipline,  to  which,  more  than  to  any 
physical  superiority  of  her  soldiery,  Rome  had  been 
indebted  for  her  conquest  of  the  earth ;  and  which  had 
inevitably  decayed  in  the  long  series  of  wars  growing 
out  of  personal  ambition.  From  the  days  of  Marius, 
every  great  leader  had  sacrificed  to  the  necessities  of 
lourting  favor  from  the  troops,  as  much  as  was  possible 
of  the  hardships  incident  to  actual  service,  and  as  much 
•8  he  dared  of  the  once  rigorous  discipline.  Hadrian 
irst  found  himself  ii\  cl-cums\anccs,  or   was   the  first 


l40  THE    C^SAKS. 

who  had  courage  enough  to  decline  a  mcmeutary 
interest  in  favor  of  a  greater  in  reversion  ;  and  a  per- 
sonal object  which  was  transient,  in  favor  of  a  State 
one  continually  revolving. 

For  a  prince,  with  no  children  of  his  own,  it  is  in 
any  case  a  task  of  peculiar  delicacy  to  select  a  suc- 
cessor. In  the  Roman  empire  the  difficulties  were 
much  aggravated.  The  interests  of  the  State  were,  in 
the  first  place,  to  he  consulted ;  for  a  mighty  burthen 
of  responsibility  rested  upon  the  emperor  in  the  most 
personal  sense.  Duties  of  every  kind  fell  to  his  station, 
which,  from  the  peculiar  constitution  of  the  govern- 
ment, and  from  circumstances  rooted  in  the  very  origin 
of  the  imperatorial  office,  could  not  be  devolved  upon 
a  council.  Council  there  was  none,  nor  could  be 
recognized  as  such  in  the  State  machinery.  The  em- 
peror, himself  a  sacred  and  sequestered  creature,  might 
be  supposed  to  enjoy  the  secret  tutelage  of  the  Supreme 
Deity  ;  but  a  council,  composed  of  subordinate  and 
responsible  agents,  could  not.  Again,  the  auspices  of 
the  emperor,  and  bis  edicts,  apart  even  from  any  celes- 
tial or  supernatural  inspiration,  simply  as  emanations 
of  his  own  divine  character,  had  a  value  and  a  conse- 
cration which  could  never  belong  to  those  of  a 
30uncil  —  or  to  those  even  which  bad  been  sullied  by 
ftie  breath  of  any  less  august  reviser.  The  emperot 
therefore,  or  —  as  with  a  view  to  his  solitary  and 
fcnique  character  we  ought  to  call  him  —  in  the  origintw 


THE    CiSAKS.  141 

irrepresentable  term,  the  imperator,  could  not  delegate 
his  duties,  or  execute  them  in  any  avowed  form  by 
proxies  or  representatives.  He  was  himself  the  great 
fountain  of  law  —  of  honor  —  of  preferment  —  of  civil 
and  political  regulations.  He  was  the  fountain  also  of 
good  and  evil  fame.  He  was  the  great  chancellor,  or 
supreme  dispenser  of  equity  to  all  climates,  nations, 
languages,  of  his  mighty  dominions,  which  connected 
the  turbaned  races  of  the  Orient,  and  those  who  sat 
in  the  gates  of  the  rising  sun,  with  the  islands  of  thti 
West,  and  the  unfathomed  depths  of  the  mysterious 
Scandinavia.  He  was  the  universal  guardian  of  the 
public  and  private  interests  which  composed  the  grea^ 
edifice  of  ths  social  system  as  then  existing  amongst 
his  subjects.  Above  all,  and  out  of  his  own  private 
purse,  he  supported  the  heraldries  of  his  dominions  — 
the  peerage,  senatorial  or  praetorian,  and  the  great 
gentry  or  chivalry  of  the  Equites.  These  were  classes 
who  would  have  been  dishonored  by  the  censorship 
of  a  less  august  comptroller.  And  for  the  classes 
below  these,  —  by  how  much  they  were  lower  and 
more  remote  from  his  ocular  superintendence,  —  by 
BO  much  the  more  were  they  linked  to  him  in  a 
connection  of  absolute  dependence.  Caesar  it  was  who 
provided  their  daily  food,  Caesar  who  provided  their 
pleasures  and  relaxations.  He  chartered  the  fleeta 
which  brought  grain  to  the  Tiber  —  he  bespoke  the 
Sardinian    granaries  while    yet    unformed  —  and    the 


142  THE  cj:saiis. 

harvests  of  the  Nile  while  yet  unsown.  Not  the  con« 
nection  between  a  mother  and  her  unborn  infant  ii 
more  intimate  and  vital,  than  that  which  subsisted 
between  the  mighty  populace  of  the  Roman  capitol 
and  their  paternal  emperor  They  drew  their  nutri- 
ment from  him  ;  they  lived  and  were  happy  by  sym- 
pathy with  the  motions  of  his  will ;  to  him  also  the 
arts,  the  knowledge,  and  the  literature  of  the  empire 
looked  for  support.  To  him  the  armies  looked  for 
their  laurels,  and  the  eagles  in  every  clime  turned 
their  aspiring  eyes,  waiting  to  bend  their  flight  accord- 
ing to  the  signal  of  his  Jovian  nod.  And  all  these 
vast  functions  and  ministrations  arose  partly  as  a 
natural  effect,  but  partly  also  they  were  a  cause  of 
the  emperor's  own  divinity.  He  was  capable  of  ser- 
vices so  exalted,  because  he  also  was  held  a  god,  and 
had  his  own  altars,  his  own  incense,  his  own  worship 
and  priests.  And  that  was  the  cause,  and  that  was  the 
result  of  his  bearing,  on  his  own  shoulders,  a  burthen 
BO  mighty  and  Atlantean. 

Yet,  if  in  this  view  it  was  needful  to  have  a  man 
of  talent,  on  the  other  hand  there  was  reason  to  dread 
a  man  of  talents  too  adventurous,  too  aspiring,  or 
too  intriguing.  His  situation,  as  Caesar,  or  Crown 
Prince,  flung  into  his  hands  a  power  of  fomenting 
lonspiracies,  and  of  concealing  them  until  the  very 
moment  of  explosion,  which  made  him  an  object  o 
dmost    exclusive    terror  to   his    principal,    the  Caesar 


THE    C^SARS.  143 

Augustus.  His  situation  again,  as  an  heir  voluntarily 
adopted,  made  him  the  proper  object  of  public  affection 
and  caresses,  which  became  peculiarly  embarrassing  to 
one  who  had,  perhaps,  soon  found  reasons  for  suspect 
ing,  fearing,  and  hating  him  beyond  all  other  men. 

The  young  nobleman,  whom  Hadrian  adopted  by 
his  earliest  choice,  was  Lucius  Aurelius  Verus,  the  son 
of  Cejonius  Commodus.  These  names  were  borne 
also  by  the  son  ;  but,  after  his  adoption  into  the  ^^lian 
family,  he  was  generally  known  by  the  appellation  of 
iElius  Verus.  The  scandal  of  those  times  imputed  his 
adoption  to  the  worst  motives.  '  Adriajio,'  says  one 
author,  '  {ut  malevoli  loquuntur)  acceptior  forma  quam 
moribus.'  And  thus  much  undoubtedly  there  is  to 
countenance  so  shocking  an  insinuation,  that  very  little 
is  recorded  of  the  young  prince  but  such  anecdotes  a» 
illustrate  his  excessive  luxury  and  effeminate  dedica- 
tion to  pleasure.  Still  it  is  our  private  opinion,  that 
Hadrian's  real  motives  have  been  misrepresented  ;  that 
he  sought  in  the  young  man's  extraordinary  beauty  — 
[for  he  was,  says  Spartian,  pulchriludinis  regicB]  —  a 
plausible  pretext  that  should  be  sufficient  to  explain 
%nd  to  countenance  his  preference,  whilst  under  his 
()rovisional  adoption  he  was  enabled  to  postpone  the 
definitive  choice  of  an  imperator  elect,  until  his  own 
More  advanced  age  might  diminish  the  motives  for 
aatriguing  against  himself.  It  was,  therefore,  a  mere 
Md  interim  adoption ;    for  it  is   certain,   however  we 


144  THE    C^SABS. 

tnay  choose  to  explain  that  fact,  that  Hadrian  foresaT» 
and  calculated  on  the  early  death  of  ^lius.  This 
prophetic  knowledge  may  have  been  grounded  on  a 
private  familiarity  with  some  constitutional  infirmity 
affecting  his  daily  health,  or  with  some  habits  of  life 
incompatible  with  longevity,  or  with  both  combined. 
It  is  pretended  that  this  distinguished  mark  of  favoi 
was  conferred  in  fulfilment  of  a  direct  contract  on  the 
emperor's  part,  as  the  price  of  favors,  such  as  the 
Latin  reader  will  easily  understand  from  the  strong 
expression  of  Spartian  above  cited.  But  it  is  far 
more  probable  that  Hadrian  relied  on  this  admirable 
beauty,  and  allowed  it  so  much  weight,  as  the  readiest 
and  most  intelligible  justification  to  the  multitude,  of  a 
choice  which  thus  ofi"ered  to  their  homage  a  public 
favorite  —  and  to  the  nobility,  of  so  invidious  a  prefer- 
ence, which  placed  oiie  of  their  own  number  far  above 
the  level  of  his  natural  rivals.  The  necessities  of  the 
moment  were  thus  satisfied  without  present  or  future 
danger ;  —  as  respected  the  future,  he  knew  or  believed 
that  Verus  was  marked  out  for  early  death  ;  and  would 
often  say,  in  a  strain  of  compliment  somewhat  dispro- 
portionate, applying  to  him  the  Virgilian  lines  on  the 
hopeful  and  lamented  Marcellus, 

'  Ostendent  terris  hunc  tantum  fata,  neque  ultra 
Esse  sinent.' 

And,  at  the  same  time,  to  countenance  the  belief  tha' 

be    had   been   disappointed,    he  would  affect  to  sigh, 


THE    C^SARS.  145 

txclaiming  —  '  Ah  !  that  I  should  thus  fruitlessly  have 
iquandered  a  sum  of  three  ^  millions  sterling  ! '  for  go 
much  had  been  distributed  in  largesses  to  the  people 
and  the  army  on  the  occasion  of  his  inauguration. 
Meantime,  as  respected  the  present,  the  qualities  of  the 
young  man  were  amply  fitted  to  sustain  a  Roman  pop- 
ularity ;  for,  in  addition  to  his  extreme  and  statuesque 
beauty  of  person,  he  was  (in  the  report  of  one  who  did 
not  wish  to  color  his  character  advantageously)  '  tnemor 
familicE  su(b,  comptus,  decorus,  oris  venerandi,  eloquen- 
ticB  celsiorisy  versu  facilis,  in  repuhlicd  etiam  non 
inutilis.^  Even  as  a  military  officer,  he  had  a  respect- 
able *  character ;  as  an  orator  he  was  more  than 
respectable ;  and  in  other  qualifications  less  interesting 
to  the  populace,  he  had  that  happy  mediocrity  of  merit 
which  was  best  fitted  for  his  delicate  and  difficult 
situation  —  sufficient  to  do  credit  to  the  emperor's 
preference  —  sufficient  to  sustain  the  popular  regard, 
but  not  brilliant  enough  to  throw  his  patron  into  the 
shade.  For  the  rest  his  vices  were  of  a  nature  not 
greatly  or  necessarily  to  interfere  ^vith  his  public 
duties,  and  emphatically  such  as  met  with  the  readiest 
indulgence  from  the  Roman  laxity  of  morals.  Some 
few  instances,  indeed,  are  noticed  of  crueltj- ;  but  there 
is  reason  to  think  that  it  was  merely  bv  accident,  and 
%s  an  indirect  result  of  o*tier  purposes,  that  he  ever 
lllowed  himself  in  su:h  manifestations  of  irresponsible 
power  —  not  as  gratifying  any  harsh  impulses  of  hit 
10 


146  THE     C^SABS. 

Dative  character.  The  most  remarkable  neglect  of 
aumanity  with  which  he  has  been  taxed,  occurred  in 
the  treatment  of  his  couriers ;  these  were  the  bearers 
of  news  and  official  dispatches,  at  that  time  fulfilling 
the  functions  of  the  modern  post;  and  it  must  be 
remembered  that  as  yet  they  were  not  slaves,  (as  after- 
wards by  the  reformation  of  Alexander  Severus,)  but 
free  citizens.  They  had  been  already  dressed  in  a 
particular  livery  or  uniform,  and  possibly  they  might 
wear  some  symbolical  badges  of  their  profession  ;  but 
the  new  Caesar  chose  to  dress  them  altogether  in 
character  as  winged  Cupids,  affixing  literal  wings  to 
their  shoulders,  and  facetiously  distinguishing  them 
by  the  names  of  the  four  cardinal  winds,  (Boreas, 
A.quilo,  Notus,  &c.)  and  others  as  levanters  or  hurri- 
.tanes,  (Circius,  &c.)  Thus  far  he  did  no  more  than 
indulge  a  blameless  fancy ;  but  in  his  anxiety  that  his 
runners  should  emulate  their  patron  winds,  and  do 
credit  to  the  names  which  he  had  assigned  them,  he  is 
said  to  have  exacted  a  degree  of  speed  inconsistent 
with  any  merciful  regard  for  their  bodily  powers.^ 
But  these  were,  after  all,  perhaps,  mere  improvements 
of  malice  upon  some  solitary  incident.  The  true  stain 
upon  his  memory,  and  one  which  is  open  to  no  doubt 
whatever,  is  excessive  and  extravagant  luxury  —  ex- 
cessive in  degree,  extravagant  and  even  ludicrous  in 
its  forms.  For  example,  he  constructed  a  sort  of  bed 
ox  sofa  —  protected  from  insects  by  an  awning  of  net. 


THE    CiESAKS.  147 

nrork  composed  ot  lilies,  delicately  fabricated  into  the 
proper  meshes,  &c.,  and  the  couches  composed  wholly 
»>f  rose-leaves ;  and  even  of  these,  not  without  an  ex- 
quisite preparation;  for  the  white  parts  of  the  leaves, 
as  coarser  and  harsher  to  the  touch,  (possibly,  also,  as 
less  odorous,)  were  scrupulously  rejected.  Here  he 
lay  indolently  stretched  amongst  favorite  ladies, 
'And  like  a  naked  Indian  slept  himself  away.' 

He  had  also  tables  composed  of  the  same  delicate 
material  —  prepared  and  purified  in  the  same  elaborate 
way  —  and  to  these  were  adapted  seats  in  the  fashion 
of  sofas  (accubationes),  corresponding  in  their  mate- 
rials, and  in  their  mode  of  preparation.  He  was  also 
an  expert  performer,  and  even  an  original  inventor,  in 
the  art  of  cookery ;  and  one  dish  of  his  discovery, 
which,  from  its  four  component  parts,  obtained  the 
name  of  tetrapharmacum,  was  so  far  from  owing  its 
celebrity  to  its  royal  birth,  that  it  maintained  its  place 
on  Hadrian's  table  to  the  time  of  his  death.  These, 
however,  were  mere  fopperies  or  pardonable  extrava- 
gances in  one  so  young  and  so  exalted ;  '  quae,  etsi 
Qon  decora,'  as  the  historian  observes,  'non  tamen  ad 
perniciem  publicam  prompta  sunt.'  A  graver  mode 
jf  licentiousness  appeared  in  his  connections  with 
women.  He  made  no  secret  of  his  lawless  amours  ; 
tnd  to  his  own  wife,  on  her  expostulating  with  him  on 
uis  aberrations  in  this  respect,  he  replied  —  that  '  wife ' 
was  a  designation  of  rank  and  official  dignity,  not  of 


148  THE    CJESAKS. 

tenderness  and  affection,  or  implying  any  claim  of  love 
on  either  side ;  upon  which  distinction  he  begged  that 
she  would  mind  her  own  affairs,  and  leave  him  to  pur- 
ine such  as  he  might  himself  be  involved  ir  by  hia 
sensibility  to  female  charms. 

However,  he  and  all  his  errors,  his  '  regal  beauty,' 
his  princely  pomps,  and  his  authorized  hopes,  were 
suddenly  swallowed  up  by  the  inexorable  grave ;  and 
he  would  have  passed  away  like  an  exhalation,  am' 
leaving  no  remembrance  of  himself  more  durable  than 
his  own  beds  of  rose-leaves,  and  his  reticulated  cano- 
pies of  lilies,  had  it  not  been  that  Hadrian  filled  the 
world  with  images  of  his  perfect  fawn-like  beauty  in 
the  shape  of  colossal  statues,  and  raised  temples  even 
to  his  memory  in  various  cities.  This  Caesar,  therefore, 
dying  thus  prematurely,  never  tasted  of  empire ;  and 
his  name  would  have  had  but  a  doubtful  title  to  a  place 
in  the  imperatorial  roll,  had  it  not  been  recalled  to  a 
second  chance  for  the  sacred  honors  in  the  person  of  his 
son  —  whom  it  was  the  pleasure  of  Hadrian,  by  way  of 
testifying  his  affection  for  the  father,  to  associate  in  the 
order  of  succession  with  the  philosophic  Marcus  Aure- 
lius  Antoninus.  This  fact,  and  the  certainty  that  to 
the  second  ^Elius  Verus  he  gave  his  own  daughter  in 
marriage,  rather  than  to  his  associate  Caesar  Marcui 
Aurelius,  make  it  evident  that  his  regret  for  the  elder 
Verus  was  unaffected  and  deep  ;  and  they  overthrow 
eflfectually  tho  common  report  of  historians  —  that  h» 


THE    CJBSA.BS.  149 

repented  of  his  earliest  choice,  as  of  one  that  had  been 
disappointed  not  by  the  decrees  of  fate,  but  by  the 
violent  defect  of  merit  in  its  object.  On  the  contrary, 
H?  prefaced  his  inauguration  of  this  junior  Caesar  by 
the  following  tender  words  —  Let  us  confound  the 
rapine  of  the  grave,  and  let  the  empire  possess  amongst 
her  rulers  a  second  -lElius  Verus. 

'  Diis  aliter  visum  est : '  the  blood  of  the  iElian 
family  was  not  privileged  to  ascend  or  aspire :  it  gra- 
vitated violently  to  extinction  ;  and  this  junior  Verus 
is  supposed  to  have  been  as  much  indebted  to  his  as- 
sessor on  the  throne  for  shielding  his  obscure  vices,  and 
drawing  over  his  defects  the  ample  draperies  of  the 
imperatorial  robe,  as  he  was  to  Hadrian,  his  grand- 
father by  fiction  of  law,  for  his  adoption  into  the 
reigning  family,  and  his  consecration  as  one  of  the 
Caesars.  He,  says  one  historian,  shed  no  ray  of  light 
or  illustration  upon  the  imperial  house,  except  by  one 
solitary  quality.  This  bears  a  harsh  sound ;  but  it  has 
the  efiect  of  a  sudden  redemption  for  his  memory, 
when  we  learn  —  that  this  solitary  quality,  in  virtue  oi 
which  he  claimed  a  natural  affinity  to  the  sacred  house, 
and  challenged  a  natural  interest  in  the  purple,  was  the 
rery  princely  one  of —  a  merciful  disposition. 

The  two  Antonines  fix  an  era  in  the  imperial  history; 
lor  they  were  both  eminent  models  of  wise  and  good 
rxilers ;  and  some  would  say,  that  they  fixed  a  crisis  ; 
fcr  with  their    successor    commenced,  in  the  populai 


J  50  THE    C^SARS. 

belief,  the  decline  of  the  empire.  That  at  least  is  th« 
doctrine  of  Gibbon  ;  but  perhaps  it  would  not  be  found 
altogether  able  to  sustain  itself  against  a  closer  and 
philosophic  examination  of  the  true  elements  involved 
.n  the  idea  of  declension  as  applied  to  political  bodies. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  however,  and  waiving  any  interest 
which  might  happen  to  invest  the  Antonines  as  the  last 
princes  who  kept  up  the  empire  to  its  original  level, 
both  of  them  had  enough  of  merit  to  challenge  a 
separate  notice  in  their  personal  characters,  and  apart 
from  the  accidents  of  their  position. 

The  elder  of  the  two,  who  is  usually  distinguished 
by  the  title  of  Pius,  is  thus  described  by  one  of  hie 
biographers  :  — '  He  was  externally  of  remarkable 
beauty  ;  eminent  for  his  moral  character,  full  of  benign 
dispositions,  noble,  with  a  countenance  of  a  most  gentle 
expression,  intellectually  of  singular  endowments,  pos- 
sessing an  elegant  style  of  eloquence,  distinguished  for 
his  literature,  generally  temperate,  an  earnest  lover  of 
agricultural  pursuits,  mild  in  his  deportment,  bountiful 
n  the  use  of  his  own,  but  a  stern  respecter  of  the  rights 
of  others  ;  and,  finally,  he  was  all  this  without  osten- 
Ation,  and  with  a  constant  regard  to  the  proportions 
of  cases,  and  to  the  demands  of  time  and  place.'  His 
bounty  displayed  itself  in  a  way,  which  may  be  worth 
jaentioning,  as  at  once  illustrating  the  age,  and  the 
pradence  with  which  he  controlled  the  most  generous 
of    ills   impulses:  —  '  Fccnus   tricntarium,''^  says  thi 


XHB    C.ESAR3.  1 5l 

historian,  '  hoc  est  minimis  usuris  exercuit,  ut  patri' 
monio  suo  plurimos  adjuvaret.^  The  meaning  of 
which,  is  this :  —  In  Rome,  the  customary  interest  for 
money  was  what  was  called  centesimcB  usurer  ;  that  is, 
the  hundredth  part,  or  one  per  cent.  But,  as  this 
expressed  not  the  annual,  but  the  monthly  interest,  the 
true  rate  was,  in  fact,  twelve  per  cent. ;  and  that  is  the 
meaning  of  centesimce  usurce.  Nor  could  money  be 
obtained  anywhere  on  better  terms  than  these ;  and, 
moreover,  this  one  per  cent,  was  exacted  rigorously  as 
the  monthly  day  came  round,  no  arrears  being  suffered 
to  lie  over.  Under  these  circumstances,  it  was  a  pro- 
digious service  to  lend  money  at  a  diminished  rate,  and 
one  which  furnished  many  men  with  the  means  of 
saving  themselves  from  ruin.  Pius,  then,  by  way  of 
extending  his  aid  as  far  as  possible,  reduced  the 
monthly  rate  of  his  loans  to  one- third  per  cent.,  which 
made  the  annual  interest  the  very  moderate  one  of  four 
per  cent.  The  channels,  which  public  spirit  had  as 
yet  opened  to  the  beneficence  of  the  opulent,  were  few 
indeed  :  charity  and  munificence  languished,  or  they 
ivere  abused,  or  they  were  inefficiently  directed,  simply 
through  defects  in  the  structure  of  society.  Social 
organization,  for  its  large  development,  demanded  the 
agency  of  newspapers,  (together  with  many  other  forms 
of  assistance  from  the  press,)  of  banks,  of  public  car- 
riages on  an  extensive  scale,  besides  infinite  other 
nventions  or  establishments  not  yet  created  —  which 


1A2  THE    C^SAKS 

luppcrt  and  powerfully  re-act  upon  that  ^anjc  progress 
of  society  which  originally  gave  birth  to  themselves. 
All  things  considered,  in  the  Rome  of  that  day,  where 
all  munificence  confined  itself  to  the  direct  largesses  of 
a  few  leading  necessaries  of  life,  —  a  great  step  wf»8 
taken,  and  the  best  step,  in  this  lending  of  money  at 
a  low  interest,  towards  a  more  refined  and  beneficial 
mode  of  charity. 

In  his  public  character,  he  was  perhaps  the  most 
patriotic  of  Roman  emperors,  and  the  purest  from  all 
taint  of  corrupt  or  indirect  ends.  Peculation,  embez- 
zlement or  misapplication  of  the  public  funds,  were 
universally  corrected  ;  provincial  oppressors  were  ex- 
posed and  defeated :  the  taxes  and  tributes  were  dimin- 
ished ;  and  the  public  expenses  were  thrown  as  much 
as  possible  upon  the  public  estates,  and  in  some  in- 
stances upon  his  own  private  estates.  So  far,  indeed, 
did  Pius  stretch  his  sympathy  with  the  poorer  classes 
of  his  subjects,  that  on  this  account  chiefly  he  resided 
permanently  in  the  capital  —  alleging  in  excuse,  partly 
that  he  thus  stationed  himself  in  the  very  centre  of  his 
mighty  empire,  to  which  all  couriers  could  come  by 
the  shortest  radii,  but  chiefly  that  he  thus  spared  the 
provincialists  those  burdens  which  must  eise  havt 
fclighted  upon  them  ;  '  for,'  said  he,  '  even  the  slen- 
derest retinue  of  a  Roman  emperor  is  burthensome  to 
the  whole  line  of  its  progress.'  His  tenderness  anu 
toiuideration,  indeed,  were  extended  to  all  classes,  anc" 


THK    C-ESARS.  153 

all  relations  of  his  subjects  ;  even  to  those  who  siood 
in  the  shadow  of  his  public  displeasure  as  State  delin- 
quents, or  as  the  most  atrocious  criminals.  To  the 
children  of  great  treasury  defaulters,  he  returned  the 
confiscated  estates  of  their  fathers,  deducting  only  what 
might  repair  the  public  loss.  And  so  resolutely  did 
he  refuse  to  shed  the  blood  of  any  in  the  senatoriaJ 
order,  to  whom  he  conceived  himself  more  especially 
bound  in  paternal  ties,  that  even  a  parricide,  whom  the 
laws  would  not  suffer  to  live,  was  simply  exposed  upon 
a  desert  island. 

Little,  indeed,  did  Pius  want  of  being  a  perfect 
Christian,  in  heart  and  in  practice.  Yet  all  this  display 
of  goodness  and  merciful  indulgence,  nay,  all  his 
munificence,  would  have  availed  him  little  with  the 
people  at  large,  had  he  neglected  to  furnish  shows 
and  exhibitions  in  the  arena  of  suitable  magnificence. 
Luckily  for  his  reputation,  he  exceeded  the  general 
standard  of  imperial  splendor  not  less  as  the  patron  of 
the  amphitheatre  than  in  his  more  important  functions. 
It  is  recorded  of  him  —  that  in  one  missio  he  sent  for- 
ward on  the  arena  a  hundred  lions.  Nor  was  he  less 
distinguished  by  the  rarity  of  the  wild  animals  which  he 
exhibited  than  by  their  number.  There  were  elephants, 
there  were  crocodiles,  taere  were  hippopotami  at  OTie 
time  upon  the  stage  :  there  was  also  the  rhinoceros,  and 
the  still  rarer  crocula  or  coro:otta,  with  a  few  slrej)sik- 
""otea.     Some  of  these  were  matched  in  duel?,  some  in 


154  THK  c-a;sAKs. 

general  battles  Avith  tigers ;  in  fact,  theie  was  no  speciei 
of  wild  animal  throughout  the  deserts  and  sandy  Zaarras 
of  Africa,  the  infinite  steppes  of  Asia,  or  the  lawny- 
recesses  and  dim  forests  of  then  sylvan  Europe,'^  nc 
species  known  to  natural  history,  (and  some  even  of 
which  naturalists  have  lost  sight,)  which  the  Emperor 
Pius  did  not  produce  to  his  Roman  subjects  on  his  cere- 
monious pomps.  And  in  another  point  he  carried  hia 
splendors  to  a  point  which  set  the  seal  to  his  liberality. 
In  the  phrase  of  modern  auctioneers,  he  gave  up  the 
wild  beasts  to  slaughter  '  without  reserv?.*  It  was  the 
custom,  in  ordinary  cases,  so  far  to  consider  the  enor- 
mous cost  of  these  far-fetched  rarities  as  to  preserve 
for  future  occasions  those  which  escaped  the  arrows  of 
the  populace,  or  survived  the  bloody  combats  in  which 
they  were  engaged.  Thus,  out  of  the  overflowings  of 
one  great  exhibition,  would  be  found  materials  for 
another.  But  Pius  would  not  allow  of  these  reserva- 
tions. All  were  given  up  unreservedly  to  the  savage 
purposes  of  the  spectators;  land  and  sea  were  rar- 
sacked;  the  sanctuaries  of  the  torrid  zone  were  vio- 
lated; columns  of  the  army  were  put  in  motion  —  ard 
all  for  the  transient  effect  of  crowning  an  extra  hour 
with  hecatombs  of  forest  blood,  each  separate  minute 
of  which  had  cost  a  king's  ransom. 

Yet  these  displays  were  alien  to  the  nature  of  Pius : 
uid  even  through  the  tyranny  of  custom,  he  had  been 
»o  little  changed,  that  to  the  last  he  continued  to  turi 


THE    C^SAUS.  155 

aside,  as  often  as  the  public  ritual  of  his  duty  allowed 
him,  from  these  fierce  spectacles  to  the  gontler  amuse- 
ments of  fishing  and  hunting.  His  taste  and  his  affec- 
tions naturally  carried  him  to  all  domestic  pleasures 
of  a  quiet  nature.  A  walk  in  a  shrubbery  or  along  a 
piazza,  enlivened  with  the  conversation  of  a  fr»end  or 
two,  pleased  him  better  than  all  the  court  festivals ; 
and  among  festivals  or  anniversary  celebrations,  ha 
preferred  those  which,  like  the  harvest-home  or  feast 
of  the  vintagers,  whilst  they  sanctioned  a  total  care- 
lessness and  dismissal  of  public  anxieties,  were  at  the 
same  time  colored  by  the  innocent  gayety  which  be- 
longs to  rural  and  to  primitive  manners.  In  person, 
this  emperor  was  tall  and  dignified  {staturd  elevatd 
decorus) ;  but  latterly  he  stooped ;  to  remedy  which 
defect,  that  he  might  discharge  his  public  part  with 
the  more  decorum,  he  wore  stays.''*'  Of  his  other  per- 
sonal habits  little  is  recorded,  except  that,  early  in  the 
morning  and  just  before  receiving  the  compliments  of 
liis  friends  and  dependents  [salutatores),  or  what  in 
modem  phrase  would  be  called  his  levee,  he  took  a 
little  plain  bread  {paiiem  siccuvi  coviedit),  that  is, 
bread  without  condiments  or  accompaniments  of  any 
kind,  by  way  of  breakfast.  In  no  meal  has  luxury 
advanced  more  upon  the  model  of  the  ancients  than 
in  this;  the  dinners  (coma:)  of  the  Romans  were  even 
bore  luxurious,  and  a  thousand  times  more  costly, 
Qian  our  own  ;  but  their  breakfasts  were  scandalo  lalj 


156  THE    C^SARS. 

meagre,  and,  with  many  men,  breakfast  was  no  pro 
fessed  meal  at  all.  Galen  tells  us  that  a  little  breads 
and  at  most  a  little  seasoning  of  oil,  honey,  or  diied 
fruits,  was  the  utmost  breakfast  which  men  generally 
allowed  themselves  :  some  indeed  drank  wine  after  it, 
but  this  was  far  from  being  a  common  practice.'*^ 

The  Emporor  Pius  died  in  his  seventieth  year.  The 
immediate  occasion  of  his  death  was  —  not  breakfast 
nor  ccena,  but  something  of  the  kind.  He  had  received 
a  present  of  Alpine  cheese,  and  he  ordered  some  for 
supper.  The  trap  for  his  life  was  baited  with  toasted 
cheese.  There  is  no  reason  to  think  that  he  ate  im- 
moderately ;  but  that  night  he  was  seized  with  indiges- 
tion. Delirium  followed ;  during  which  it  is  singular 
that  his  mind  teemed  with  a  class  of  imagery  and  of  pas- 
sions the  most  remote  (as  it  might  have  been  thought) 
from  the  voluntary  occupations  of  his  thoughts.  He 
raved  about  the  State,  and  about  those  kings  with 
whom  he  was  displeased ;  nor  were  his  thoughts  one 
moment  removed  from  the  public  service.  Yet  he  was 
the  least  ambitious  of  princes,  and  his  reign  was  em- 
phatically said  to  be  bloodless.  Finding  his  fever 
increase,  he  became  sensible  that  he  was  dying;  and  ho 
ordered  the  golden  statue  of  Prosperity,  a  household 
symbol  of  empire,  to  be  transferred  from  his  own  bed- 
room to  that  of  his  successor.  Once  again,  however, 
for  the  last  time,  he  gave  the  word  to  the  officer  of  the 
guard ;  and,  soon  after,  turning  away  his  face   to  thf 


THE    C^SARS.  167 

»vall  aj,'ainst  which  his  bed  was  placed,  he  passed  oul 
of  life  in  the  very  gentlest  sleep,  '  quasi  dormiret^ 
spiritum  reddidit ; '  or,  as  a  Greek  author  expresses  it, 
KQT  IcTov  vTTvw  TO)  fiaXaKtiyroiTto.  He  was  one  of  those  few 
Roman  Emperors  whom  posterity  truly  honored  with 
the  title  of  Ai/aLfxaKTo^  (or  bloodless)  ;  solusque  omnium 
prope  principum  prorsus  sine  civili  sanguine  et  hostili 
vixit.  In  the  whole  tenor  of  his  life  and  character  he 
was  thought  to  resemble  Numa.  And  Pausanias,  after 
remarking  on  his  title  of  Bvaej3i']^  (or  Pius),  upon  the 
meaning  and  origin  of  which  there  are  several  different 
hypotheses,  closes  with  this  memorable  tribute  to  his  pa- 
ternal qualities  —  So^rj  8e  €//.tj,  koi  to  oi'o/xa  to  tov  Kvpov 
<f)ipoLTO  av  TOV  Trpea^vTcpov,  HaTTjp  avOp^TroiV  KaXovfxivo'i  '. 
hut,  in  my  opinion,  he  should  also  hear  the  name  of  Cyrus 
the  elder  —  heinc)  hailed  as  Father  of  the  Hiiman  Race. 
A  thoughtful  Roman  would  have  been  apt  to  ex- 
claim, TJiis  is  too  good  to  last,  upon  finding  so 
admirable  a  ruler  succeeded  by  one  still  more  admira- 
ble in  the  person  of  Marcus  Aurelius.  From  the  first 
dawn  of  his  infancy,  this  prince  indicated,  by  his  grave 
deportment,  the  philosophic  character  of  his  mind  ;  and 
b.t  eleven  years  of  age  he  professed  himself  a  formal 
devotee  of  philosophy  in  its  strictest  form,  —  assuming 
the  garb,  and  submitting  to  its  most  ascetic  ordinances. 
Ir  particular,  he  slept  upon  the  ground,  and  in  other 
lespects  he  practised  a  style  of  living  the  most  simple 
Mid  remote  from  the  habits  of  rich  men  [or,  in   hi* 


158  THE    CiESARS. 

DWn  words,  t6  Xirbv  xar'a  T<,v  diauar,  xvti  nooow  n^inhrvai- 
tixi]g  uyw//;s]  ;  though  it  is  true  that  he  himself  ascribes 
this  simplicity  of  life  to  the  influence  of  his  mother 
and  not  to  the  premature  assumption  of  the  stoical 
character.  He  pushed  his  austerities  indeed  to  excess ; 
for  DId  mentions  that  in  his  boyish  days  he  was  re- 
iuced  to  great  weakness  by  exercises  too  severe,  and  a 
diet  of  too  little  nutriment.  In  fact,  his  whole  heart 
was  set  upon  philosophic  attainments,  and  perhaps  upon 
philosophic  glory.  All  the  great  philosophers  of  his 
own  time,  whether  Stoic  or  Peripatetic,  and  amongst 
them  Sextus  of  Cheronaea,  a  nephew  of  Plutarch,  were 
retained  as  his  instructors.  There  was  none  whom  he 
did  not  enrich  ;  and  as  many  as  were  fitted  by  birth 
and  manners  to  fill  important  situations,  he  raised  to 
the  highest  offices  in  the  State.^^  Philosophy,  however, 
did  not  so  much  absorb  his  affections,  but  that  he  found 
time  to  cultivate  the  fine  arts  (painting  he  both  studied 
and  practised),  and  such  gymnastic  exercises  as  he 
held  consistent  with  his  public  dignity.  Wrestling, 
hunting,  fowling,  playing  at  cricket  (jpila),  he  admii-ed 
and  patronized  by  personal  participation.  He  tried  his 
powers  even  as  a  runner.  But  with  these  tasks,  and 
entering  so  critically,  both  as  a  connoisseur  and  as  a 
practising  amateur,  into  such  trials  of  skill,  so  little  did 
ae  relish  the  very  same  spectacles  when  connected 
with  the  cruel  exhibitions  of  the  circus  and  amphithe- 
atre, that  it  was  not  without  some  friendly  violence  ov 


THE    CiESARS.  159 

the  pan  of  those  who  could  venture  on  such  a  liberty, 
nor  even  thus,  perhaps,  mthout  the  necessities  of  hia 
official  station,  that  he  would  be  persuaded  to  visit  eithei 
one  or  the  other.^^  In  this  he  meditated  no  reflection 
upon  his  father  by  adoption,  the  Emperor  Pius  (who 
also,  for  aught  we  know,  might  secretly  revolt  from  a 
species  of  amusement  Avhich,  as  the  prescriptive  test  of 
n.unificence  in  the  popular  estimate,  it  was  necessary 
to  support) ;  on  the  contrary,  he  obeyed  him  with 
the  punctiliousness  of  a  Roman  obedience  ;  he  watched 
the  very  motions  of  his  countenance  ;  and  he  waited  so 
continually  upon  his  pleasure,  that  for  three-and-twenty 
years  which  they  lived  together,  he  is  recorded  to  have 
slept  out  of  his  father's  palace  only  for  two  nights. 
This  rigor  of  filial  duty  illustrates  a  feature  of  Roman 
life  ;  for  such  was  the  sanctity  of  law,  that  a  father 
created  by  legal  fiction  was  in  all  respects  treated  with 
the  same  veneration  and  affection,  as  a  father  who 
claimed  upon  the  most  unquestioned  footing  of  natural 
right.  Such,  however,  is  the  universal  baseness  of 
courts,  that  even  this  scrupulous  and  minute  attention 
-o  his  duties,  did  not  protect  Marcus  from  the  injurious 
insinuations  of  whisperers.  There  were  not  wanting 
persons  who  endeavored  to  tu-n  to  account  the  general 
circumstances  in  the  situation  of  the  Ca\sar,  which 
pointed  him  out  to  the  jealousy  of  the  emperor.  But 
these  being  no  more  thin  what  adhere  necessarily  to 
he  case  of  every  heir  as  such,  and  meeting  fortunate]/ 


160  THE    C^SARS. 

with  no  more  proneness  to  suspicion  in  the  temper  oi 
the  Augustus  than  they  did  with  countenance  in  the 
conduct  of  the  Caesar,  made  so  little  impression,  that  at 
length  these  malicious  efforts  died  away,  from  mere 
defect  of  encouragement. 

The  most  interesting  political  crisis  in  the  reign  of 
Marcus  was  the  war  in  Germany  with  the  Marcomanni, 
concurrently  with  pestilence  in  Rome.  The  agitation 
of  the  public  mind  was  intense  ;  and  prophets  arose,  aa 
since  under  corresponding  circumstances  in  Christian 
countries,  who  announced  the  approaching  dissolution 
of  the  world.  The  purse  of  Marcus  was  open,  as  usual, 
to  the  distresses  of  his  subjects.  But  it  was  chiefly  for 
the  expense  of  funerals  that  his  aid  was  claimed.  In 
this  way  he  alleviated  the  domestic  calamities  of  hia 
capital,  or  expressed  his  sympathy  with  the  sufferers, 
where  alleviation  was  beyond  his  power  ;  whilst,  by  the 
energy  of  his  movements  and  his  personal  presence  on 
the  Danube,  he  soon  dissipated  those  anxieties  of  Rome 
which  pointed  in  a  foreign  direction.  The  war,  how- 
ever, had  been  a  dreadful  one,  and  had  excited  such 
just  fears  in  the  most  experienced  heads  of  the  State, 
that,  happening  in  its  outbreak  to  coincide  with  a  Par- 
thian wai',  it  was  skilfully  protracted  until  the  entire 
thunders  of  Rome,  and  the  undivided  energies  of  her 
supreme  captains,  could  be  concentrated  upon  this 
lingle  point.  Both*''  emperors  left  Rome,  and  crossed 
the  Alps ;   the   war  was  thrown  back  upon  its  nativ« 


THE    CiESASS.  161 

seats  —  Austria  and  the  modern  Hungary :  greay 
battles  were  fought  and  won ;  and  peace,  with  conse- 
quent relief  and  restoration  to  liberty,  was  reconquered 
for  many  friendly  nations,  who  had  suffered  under  the 
ravages  of  the  Marcomanni,  the  Sarmatians,  the  Quadi, 
and  the  Vandals ;  whilst  some  of  the  hostile  people 
were  nearly  obliterated  from  the  map,  and  their  names 
blotted  out  from  the  memory  of  men. 

Since  the  days  of  Gaul  as  an  independent  power,  no 
war  had  so  much  alarmed  the  people  of  Rome ;  and 
their  fear  was  justified  by  the  difficulties  and  prodigious 
efforts  which  accompanied  its  suppression.  The  public 
treasury  was  exhausted ;  loans  were  an  engine  of  fiscal 
policy,  not  then  understood  or  perhaps  practicable  ;  and 
great  distress  was  at  hand  for  the  State.  In  these 
circumstances,  Marcus  adopted  a  wise  (though  it  was 
then  esteemed  a  violent  or  desperate)  remedy.  Time 
and  excessive  luxury  had  accumulated  in  the  imperial 
palaces  and  villas  vast  repositories  of  apparel,  furniture, 
jewels,  pictures,  and  household  utensils,  valuable  alike 
for  the  materials  and  the  workmanship.  Many  of  these 
articles  were  consecrated,  by  color''^  or  otherwise,  to  the 
use  of  the  sacred  household ;  and  to  have  been  found 
in  possession  of  them,  or  with  the  materials  for  making 
them,  would  have  entailed  the  penalties  of  treason. 
All  these  stores  were  now  brought  out  to  open  day,  and 
put  up  to  public  sale  by  auction,  free  license  teing  first 
granted  to  the  bidders,  whoever  tbey  might  le,  to  use. 
11 


162  THE    C^SAKS. 

or  otherwise  to  exercise  the  fullest  rights  of  property 
upon  all  they  bought.  The  auction  lasted  for  two 
months.  Every  man  was  guaranteed  in  the  peaceable 
ownership  of  his  purchases.  And  afterwards,  when 
the  public  distress  had  passed  over,  a  still  further  in- 
li'ilgence  was  extended  to  the  purchasers.  Notice  was 
given  —  that  all  who  were  dissatisfied  with  theii*  pur- 
chases, or  who  for  other  means  might  wish  to  recover 
their  cost,  would  receive  back  the  purchase  money, 
upon  returning  the  articles.  Dinner  services  of  gold 
and  crystal,  murrhine  vases,^"  and  even  his  wife's  ward- 
robe of  silken  robes  interwoven  with  gold,  all  these, 
and  countless  other  articles,  were  accordingly  returned, 
and  the  full  auction  prices  paid  back ;  or  were  not 
returned,  and  no  displeasure  shown  to  those  who  pub- 
licly displayed  them  as  their  own.  Having  gone  so 
far,  overruled  by  the  necessities  of  the  public  service, 
in  breaking  down  those  legal  barriers  by  which  a  pecu- 
liar dress,  furniture,  equipage,  &c.,  were  appropriated 
to  the  imperial  house,  as  distinguished  from  the  very 
highest  of  the  noble  houses,  Marcus  had  a  sufficient 
pretext  for  extending  indefinitely  the  eff'ect  of  the 
dispensation  then  granted.  Articles  purchased  at  the 
auction  bore  no  characteristic  marks  to  distinguish 
them  from  others  of  the  same  form  and  texture :  so 
tha^  a  license  to  use  any  one  article  of  the  sacrea 
^«ttem,  became  necessarily  a  general  license  for  aL 
others  which    resembled    them.       And  thus,  withoif 


THE    C^SABS.  163 

ibrogating  the  prejudices  which  protected  ttie  imperial 
j.recedency,  a  body  of  sumptuary  laws  —  the  most 
ruiuous  to  the  progress  of  manufacturing  skill,^'^  which 
has  ever  been  devised — were  silently  suspended.  One 
or  two  aspiring  families  might  be  offended  by  thea* 
innovations,  which  meantime  gave  the  pleasures  of 
enjoyment  to  thousands,  and  of  hope  to  millions. 

But  these,  though  very  noticeable  relaxations  of  the 
existing  prerogative,  were,  as  respected  the  temper 
which  dictated  them,  no  more  than  every-day  manifes- 
tations of  the  emperor's  perpetual  benignity.  Fortu- 
nately for  Marcus,  the  indestructible  privilege  of  the 
divina  domus  exalted  it  so  unapproachably  beyond  all 
competition,  that  no  possible  remissions  of  aulic  rigor 
could  ever  be  misinterpreted ;  fear  there  could  be 
none,  lest  such  paternal  indulgences  should  lose  their 
effect  and  acceptation  as  pure  condescensions.  They 
could  neither  injure  their  author,  who  was  otherwise 
iiharmed  and  consecrated,  from  disrespect ;  nor  could 
they  suffer  injury  themselves  by  misconstruction,  or 
seem  other  than  sincere,  coming  from  a  prince  whose 
entire  life  was  one  long  series  of  acts  expressing  the 
cikHie  affable  spirit.  Such,  indeed,  was  the  effect  of 
this  uninterrupted  benevolence  in  the  emperor,  that  at 
length  all  men,  according  to  their  several  ages,  hailed 
him  as  their  father,  son,  or  brother.  And  when  he 
died,  in  the  sixty-first  year  of  hi.  life  (the  18th  of  hii 
eign),    he    wa?    lamented    with   a  corresponding    pe- 


164  THE    CJBSAB8. 

euliarity  in  the  public  ceremonial,  such,  for  instance, 
us  tlie  studied  interfusion  of  the  senatorial  body  with 
l,lie  populace,  expressive  of  the  levelling  power  of  a 
true  and  comprehensive  grief;  a  peculiarity  for  which 
no  precedent  was  found,  and  which  never  afterwaixis 
became  a  precedent  for  similar  honors  to  the  best  of 
his  successors. 

But  malice  has  the  divine  privilege  of  ubiquity ; 
and  therefore  it  was  that  even  this  great  model  of 
private  and  public  virtue  did  not  escape  the  foulest 
libels :  he  was  twice  accused  of  murder ;  once  on  the 
person  of  a  gladiator,  with  whom  the  empress  is  said 
to  have  fallen  in  love ;  and  again,  upon  his  associate 
in  the  empire,  who  died  in  reality  of  an  apopletic 
Beizure,  on  his  return  from  the  German  campaign. 
Neither  of  these  atrocious  fictions  ever  gained  the 
least  hold  of  the  public  attention,  so  entirely  were 
they  put  doAvn  by  the  'prima  facie  evidence  of  facts, 
and  of  the  emperor's  notorious  character.  In  fact  his 
faults,  if  he  had  any  in  his  public  life,  were  entirely 
thoee  of  too  much  indulgence.  In  a  few  cases  of 
enormous  guilt,  it  is  recorded  that  he  showed  himself 
inexorable.  But,  generally  speaking,  he  was  far 
otherwise  ;  and,  in  particular,  he  carried  his  indul- 
gence to  his  wife's  vices  to  an  access  which  drew  upon 
him  the  satirical  notice  of  the  stage. 

The  gladiators,  and  still  more  the  sailors  of  that  age 
were  constantly  to  be  seen  plying  naked,  and  Faustint 


THE    CiESAKS.  165 

was  shameless  enough  to  take  her  station  in  places 
which  gave  her  the  advantages  of  a  leisurely  review ; 
fcnd  she  actually  selected  favorites  from  both  classes 
on  the  ground  of  a  personal  inspection.  With  others 
of  greater  rank  she  is  said  even  to  have  been  surprised 
by  her  husband ;  in  particular  with  one  called  Tertul- 
lus,  at  dinner.*^  But  to  all  remonstrances  on  this  sub- 
ject, Marcus  is  reported  to  have  replied,  '  Si  uxorem 
dimittimus,  reddamtis  et  dotem  ; '  meaning  that,  having 
received  his  right  of  succession  to  the  empire  simply 
by  his  adoption  into  the  family  of  Pius,  his  wife's 
father,  gratitude  and  filial  duty  obliged  him  to  view  any 
dishonors  emanating  from  his  wife's  conduct  as  joint 
legacies  with  the  splendors  inherited  from  their  com- 
mon father  ;  in  short,  that  he  was  not  at  liberty  to 
separate  the  rose  from  its  thorns.  However,  the  facts 
are  not  sufficiently  known  to  warrant  us  in  criticizing 
very  severely  his  behavior  on  so  trying  an  occasion. 
It  would  be  too  much  for  human  frailty,  that  absolutely 
no  stain  should  remain  upon  his  memory.  Possibly 
the  best  use  which  can  be  made  of  such  a  fact  is,  in 
the  way  of  consolation  to  any  unhappy  man,  whom  his 
wife  may  too  liberally  have  endowed  with  honors  of 
;his  kind,  by  reminding  him  that  he  shares  this  dis- 
tinction with  the  great  philosophic  emperor.  The  re- 
Qcction  upon  this  story  by  one  of  his  biographers  is 
thia  —  • '  Such  is  the  force  of  diily  life  in  a  good  ruler, 
10   great  the  power  of   his    sanctity,   gentleness,  and 


i66  THE    CJiSAliS. 

piety,  that  no  breath  of  slander  or  invidious  suggestion 
from  an  acquaintance  can  avail  to  sully  his  memory. 
In  short,  to  Antonine,  immutable  as  the  heavens  in 
the  tenor  of  his  own  life,  and  in  the  manifestations  of 
his  own  moral  temper,  and  who  was  not  by  possibility 
liable  to  any  impulse  or  "  shadow  of  turning  "  from 
another  man's  suggestion,  it  was  not  eventually  an 
injury  that  he  was  dishonored  by  some  of  his  connec- 
tions ;  on  him,  invulnerable  in  his  own  character, 
neither  a  harlot  for  his  wife,  nor  a  gladiator  for  his 
son,  could  inflict  a  wound.  Then  as  now,  oh  sacred 
lord  Dioclesian,  he  was  reputed  a  God  ;  not  as  others 
are  reputed,  but  specially  and  in  a  peculiar  sense,  and 
with  a  privilege  to  such  worship  from  all  men  as  you 
yourself  addressed  to  him  —  who  often  breathe  a  wish 
to  Heaven,  that  you  were  or  could  be  such  in  life  and 
merciful  disposition  as  was  Marcus  Aurelius.' 

What  this  encomiast  says  in  a  rhetorical  tone  was 
literally  true.  Marcus  was  raised  to  divine  honors,  or 
canonized^"  (as  in  Christian  phrase  we  might  express 
it).  That  was  a  matter  of  course. ;  and,  considering 
with  whom  he  shared  such  honors,  they  are  of  little 
account  in  expressing  the  grief  and  veneration  which 
followed  him.  A  circumstance  more  characteristic, 
in  the  record  of  those  observances  which  attested  the 
public  feeling,  is  this  —  that  he  who  at  that  time  had 
no  bust,  picture,  or  statue  of  Marcus  in  his  house,  wa« 
looked  upon  as  a  profane  and  irreligious  man.    Finally 


THE    CiES^BS  187 

to  do  him  honor  not  by  testimonies  of  men's  opinions 
in  his  favor,  but  by  facts  of  his  own  life  and  conduct, 
one  memorable  trophy  there  is  amongst  the  moral  dis- 
tinctions of  the  philosophic  Caesar,  utterly  unnoticed 
hitherto  by  historians,  but  which  will  hereafter  obtain 
a  conspicuous  place  in  any  perfect  record  of  the  steps 
by  which  civilization  has  advanced,  and  human  nature 
has  been  exalted.  It  is  this  :  Marcus  Aurelius  was  the 
first  great  military  leader  (and  his  civil  office  as  su- 
preme interpreter  and  creator  of  law  consecrated  his 
example)  who  allowed  rights  indefeasible  —  rights  un- 
cancelled by  his  misfortune  in  the  field,  to  the  prisoner 
of  war.  Others  had  been  merciful  and  variously  indul- 
gent, upon  their  own  discretion,  and  upon  a  random 
impulse  to  some,  or  possibly  to  all  of  their  prisoners ; 
but  this  was  either  in  submission  to  the  usage  of  that 
particular  war,  or  to  special  self-interest,  or  at  most  to 
individual  good  feeling.  None  had  allowed  a  prisoner 
to  challenge  any  forbearance  as  of  right.  But  Marcus 
Aurelius  first  resolutely  maintained  that  certain  inde- 
Btructible  rights  adhered  to  every  soldier,  simply  as  a 
man,  which  rights,  capture  by  the  sword,  or  any  other 
accident  of  war,  could  do  nothing  to  shake  or  dimin- 
ish. We  have  noticed  other  instances  in  which  Marcus 
A-urelius  labored,  at  the  risk  of  his  popularity,  to  ele- 
*ate  the  condition  of  human  nature.  But  those, 
though  equally  expressing  the  goodness  and  loftiness 
rfhis  nature,  were  by  accident  d'rected  to  a  perishable 


i68  THE    C.SSABS. 

institution,  which  time  has  swept  away,  and  along  will 
t  therefore  his  reformations.  Here,  however,  is  an 
immortal  act  of  goodness  built  upon  an  immortal  basis ; 
for  so  long  as  armies  congregate,  and  the  sword  is  the 
arbiter  of  international  quarrels,  so  long  it  will  deserve 
to  be  had  in  remembrance,  that  the  first  man  who  set 
limits  to  the  empire  of  wrong,  and  first  translated 
within  the  jurisdiction  of  man's  moral  nature  that 
state  of  war  which  had  heretofore  been  consigned,  by 
principle  no  less  than  by  practice,  to  anarchy,  animal 
violence,  and  brute  force,  was  also  the  first  philosopher 
who  sat  upon  a  throne. 

In  this,  as  in  his  universal  spirit  of  forgiveness,  we 
cannot  but  acknowledge  a  Christian  by  anticipation ; 
nor  can  we  hesitate  to  believe,  that  through  one  or 
other  of  his  many  philosophic  friends,*  whose  attention 
Christianity  was  by  that  time  powerful  to  attract,  some 
reflex  images  of  Christian  doctrines  —  some  half-con- 
scious perception  of  its  perfect  beauty  —  had  flashed 
upon  his  mind.  And  when  we  view  him  from  this 
distant  age,  as  heading  that  shining  array,  the  How- 
ards and  the  Wilberforces,  who  have  since  then  in  a 
practical  sense  hearkened  to  the  sighs  of  'all  prisoners 
and  captives'  —  we  are  ready  io  suppose  him  addressed 
oy  the  great  Founder  of  Christianity,  in  the  words  ol 
Scripture,  ^Verily,  I  say  unto  thee,  Thou  art  not  fan 
from  the  kingdom  of  heaven.^ 

As  a  supplement  to  the  re^gn  of  Marcus  Aureliua 


THE    C^.SABS.  169 

we  ought  to  notice  the  rise  of  one  great  rebel,  the  sole 
civil  disturber  of  his  time,  in  Syria.  This  was  Avidius 
Cassius,  whose  descent  from  Cassius  (the  noted  con- 
spirator against  the  great  Dictator,  Julius)  seems  to 
have  suggested  to  him  a  wandering  idea,  and  at  length 
a  formal  purpose  of  restoring  the  ancient  republic. 
Avidius  was  the  commander-in-chief  of  the  Oriental 
army,  whose  head-quarters  were  then  fixed  at  Antioch. 
His  native  disposition,  which  inclined  him  to  cruelty, 
and  his  political  views,  made  him,  from  his  first 
entrance  upon  office,  a  severe  disciplinarian.  The  well 
known  enormities  of  the  neighboring  Daphne  gave 
nim  ample  opportunities  for  the  exercise  of  his  harsh 
propensities  in  reforming  the  dissolute  soldiery.  He 
amputated  heads,  arms,  feet,  and  hams :  he  turned  out 
his  mutilated  victims,  as  walking  spectacles  of  warn- 
ing ;  he  burned  them ;  he  smoked  them  to  death ;  and, 
in  one  instance,  he  crucified  a  detachment  of  his  army, 
together  with  their  centurions,  for  having,  unauthor- 
ized, gained  a  splendid  victory,  and  captured  a  large 
ooty  on  the  Danube.  Upon  this  the  soldiers  mutinied 
against  him,  in  mere  indignation  at  his  tyranny. 
However,  he  prosecuted  his  purpose,  and  prevailed,  by 
tiis  bold  contempt  of  the  danger  which  menaced  him. 
From  the  abuses  in  the  army,  he  proceeded  to  attack 
vhe  abuses  of  the  civil  administration.  But  as  these 
were  protected  by  the  exairple  of  the  great  procon- 
»ular    lieutenants    and    prov'C^ial     governors,    policy 


170  THE    CJSSABS. 

Dbliged  him  to  confine  himself  to  verbal  expressions  ol 
linger ;  until  at  length  sensible  that  this  impotent  rail- 
ing did  but  expose  him  to  contempt,  he  resolved  to  arnj 
himself  with  the  powers  of  radical  reform,  by  open 
rebellion.     His  ultimate  purpose  was  the  restoration  of 
the  ancient  republic,  or,  (as  he  himself  expresses  it  in 
an  interesting  letter  which  yet  survives,)  'Mi  in  anti- 
quum statum  puhlica  forma  reddatur;^  i.  e.  that  the 
constitution  should  be  restored  to  its  original  condition. 
And  this  must  be  effected  by  military  violence  and  the 
aid  of  the  executioner  —  or,  in  his  own  words,  multia 
gladiis,   multis   elogiis,^  (by   innumerable   sabres,  by 
innumerable  records  of  condemnation.)     Against  this 
man  Marcus  was  warned   by  his   imperial   colleague 
Lucius  Verus,   in   a   very   remarkable   letter.     After 
expressing  his  suspicions  of  him  generally,  the  writer 
goes   on   to    say  — '  I   would    you  had   him    closely 
watched.    For  he  is  a  general  disliker  of  us  and  of  our 
doings ;  he  is  gathering  together  an  enormous  treasure, 
and  he  makes  an  open  jest  of  our  literary  pursuits. 
You,  for  instance,  he  calls  a  philosophizing  old  woman, 
>nd  me  a  dissolute  buffoon  and  scamp.     Consider  what 
you  would  have  done.     For  my  part,  I  bear  the  fellow 
no  ill  will ;  but  again  I  say,  take  care  that  he  does  not 
do  a  mischief  to  yourself,  or  your  children.' 

The  answer  of  Marcus  is  noble  and  characteristic; 
'  I  have  read  your  letter,  and  I  will  confess  to  you  1 
think  it  more   scrupulously  timid   than  becomes  u 


THE    C^SABS.  171 

imperur,  and  timid  in  a  way  unsuited  to  the  spirit  ol 
our  times.  Consider  this  —  if  the  empire  is  destined 
to  Cassius  by  the  decrees  of  Providence,  in  that  case  it 
will  not  be  in  our  power  to  put  him  to  death,  however 
much  we  may  desire  to  do  so.  You  know  your  great- 
grandfather's saying,  —  No  prince  ever  killed  his  own 
heir  —  no  man,  that  is,  ever  yet  prevailed  against  one 
whom  Providence  had  marked  out  as  his  successor. 
On  the  other  hand,  if  providence  opposes  him,  then, 
without  any  cruelty  on  our  part,  he  will  spontaneously 
fall  into  some  snare  spread  for  him  by  destiny.  Be- 
sides, we  cannot  treat  a  man  as  under  impeachment 
whom  nobody  impeaches,  and  whom,  by  your  own 
confession,  the  soldiers  love.  Then  again,  in  cases  of 
high  treason,  even  those  criminals  who  are  convicted 
upon  the  clearest  evidence,  yet,  as  friendless  and 
deserted  persons  contending  against  the  powerful,  and 
matched  against  those  who  are  armed  with  the  whole 
authority  of  the  State,  seems  to  suffer  some  wrong. 
You  remember  what  your  grandfather  said  :  Wretched, 
mdeed,  is  the  fate  of  princes,  who  then  first  obtain 
credit  in  any  charges  of  conspiracy  which  they  allege  — 
when  they  happen  to  seal  the  validity  of  their  charges 
kgainst  the  plotters,  by  falling  martyrs  to  the  plot. 
iJomitian  it  was,  in  fact,  who  first  uttered  this  truth ; 
but  I  choose  rather  to  place  it  under  the  authority  of 
Hadrian,  because  '^he  sayings  of  tyrants  even  when 
\hey  are  true  and  happy,  carry  less  weight  with  them 


172  THE    C^SARS. 

than  naturally  they  ought.  For  Cassius,  then,  let  him 
keep  his  present  temper  and  inclinations ;  and  the  more 
BO  —  being  (as  he  is)  a  good  General  —  austere  in  his 
discipline,  brave,  and  one  whom  the  State  cannot  afford 
to  lose.  For  as  to  what  you  insinuate  —  that  I  ought 
to  pro\'ide  for  my  children's  interests,  by  putting  thia 
man  judicially  out  of  the  way,  very  frankly  I  say  to 
you  —  Perish  my  children,  if  Avidius  shall  deserve 
more  attachment  than  they,  and  if  it  shall  prove  salu- 
tary to  the  State  that  Cassius  should  live  rather  than 
the  children  of  Marcus.' 

This  letter  affords  a  singular  illustration  of  fatalism, 
such  certainly  as  we  might  expect  in  a  Stoic,  but  car- 
ried even  to  a  Turkish  excess ;  and  not  theoretically 
professed  only,  but  practically  acted  upon  in  a  case  of 
capital  hazard.  That  no  prince  ever  killed  his  own 
successor,  i.  e.  that  it  was  in  vain  for  a  prince  to  put 
conspkators  to  death,  because,  by  the  very  possibility 
of  doing  so,  a  demonstration  is  obtained  that  such 
Lonspirators  had  never  been  destined  to  prosper,  is  aa 
condensed  and  striking  an  expression  of  fatalism  as 
tver  has  been  devised.  The  rest  of  the  letter  is  truly 
noble,  and  breathes  the  very  soul  of  careless  magna- 
nimity reposing  upon  conscious  innocence.  Meantime 
Cassius  increased  in  power  and  influence  :  his  army 
had  become  a  most  formidable  'mgine  of  his  ambition 
Jirough  its  restored  discipline ;  axid  his  own  authority 
was  sevenfold  greater,  becaust    lie  had  himself  createf 


THE    CJESABS.  173 

that  discipline  in  the  face  of  unequalled  temptations 
hourly  renewed  and  rooted  in  the  very  centre  of  his 
head-quarters.  '  Daphne,  by  Orontes,'  a  suburb  ol 
Antioch,  was  infamous  for  its  seductions  ;  and  Daphnic 
luxury  had  become  proverbial  for  expressing  an  excesp 
of  voluptuousness,  such  as  other  places  could  not  rival 
Ly  mere  defect  of  means,  and  preparations  elaborate 
enough  to  sustain  it  in  all  its  varieties  of  mode,  or  to 
conceal  it  from  public  notice.  In  the  very  purlieus 
of  this  great  nest,  or  sty  of  sensuality,  within  sight  and 
touch  of  its  pollutions,  did  he  keep  his  army  fiercely 
reined  up,  daring  and  defying  them,  as  it  were,  to  taste 
of  the  banquet  whose  very  odor  they  inhaled. 

Thus  provided  with  the  means,  and  improved  instru- 
ments, for  executing  his  purposes,  he  broke  out  into 
open  rebellion  ;  and,  though  hostile  to  the  principatus^ 
or  personal  supremacy  of  one  man,  he  did  not  feel  his 
republican  purism  at  all  wounded  by  the  style  and  title 
of  Imperator,  —  that  being  a  military  term,  and  a  mere 
titular  honor,  which  had  co-existed  with  the  severest 
terms  of  republicanism.  Imperalor,  then,  he  was 
saluted  and  proclaimed  ;  and  doubtless  the  writer  of 
the  warning  letter  from  Syria  would  now  declare  that 
the  sequel  had  justified  the  fears  which  Marcus  had 
thought  80  unbecoming  to  a  Roman  emperor.  But 
igain  Marcus  would  have  said,  '  Let  us  wait  for  the 
«equel  of  the  sequel,'  and  that  would  have  justified 
h.im.     It  i&  often  found  by  experience  that  men,  who 


1 74  THE    C^SARS 

Kave  learned  to  reverence  a  person  in  authority  chiefly 
by  his  officcK  of  correction  applied  to  their  own  aberra- 
tions, —  who  have  known  and  feared  him,  in  short,  in 
bis  character  of  reformer,  —  wUl  be  more  than  usually 
inclined  to  desert  him  on  his  first  movement  in  the 
direction  of  wrong.  Their  obedience  being  founded 
on  fear,  and  fear  being  never  wholly  disconnected  from 
hatred,  they  naturally  seize  with  eagerness  upon  the 
first  lawful  pretext  for  disobedience  ;  the  luxury  of 
revenge  is,  in  such  a  case,  too  potent,  —  a  meritorious 
disobedience  too  novel  a  temptation,  —  to  have  a 
chance  of  being  rejected.  Never,  indeed,  does  eiTing 
human  nature  look  more  abject  than  in  the  person  of 
a  severe  exactor  of  duty,  who  has  immolated  thousands 
to  the  wrath  of  ofiended  law,  suddenly  himself  becom- 
ing a  capital  offender,  a  glozing  tempter  in  search  of 
accomplices,  and  in  that  character  at  once  standing 
before  the  meanest  of  his  own  dependents  as  a  self- 
deposed  officer,  liable  to  any  man's  arrest,  and,  ipso 
facto,  a  suppliant  for  his  own  mercy.  The  stern  and 
haughty  Cassius,  who  had  so  often  tightened  the  cordg 
of  discipline  until  they  threatened  to  snap  asur.der, 
now  found,  experimentally,  the  bitterness  of  these 
obvious  truths.  The  trembling  sentinel  now  looked 
insolently  in  his  face  ;  the  cowering  legionary,  with 
wrhom  '  to  hear  was  to  obey,'  now  mused  or  even 
bandied  words  upon  his  orders  ;  the  great  lieutenanti 
i>f  his  office,  who  stood  next   to   his   own   person   if 


TH£    C£SAB8.  I7ff 

kuthorify,  wera  preparing  for  revolt,  open  or  secret, 
3W  circumstances  should  prescribe  ;  not  the  accusei 
only,  but  the  very  avenger,  was  upon  his  steps ;  Neme- 
sis, that  Nemesis  who  once  so  closely  adhered  to  the 
name  and  fortunes  of  the  lawful  Caesar,  turning  agains** 
every  one  of  his  assassins^^  thv?  edge  of  his  own  assassi- 
nating sword,  was  already  at  his  heels  ;  and  in  the 
midst  of  a  sudden  prosperity,  and  its  accompanying 
shouts  of  gratulation,  he  heard  the  sullen  knells  of 
approaching  death.  Antioch,  it  was  true,  the  great  Ro- 
man capital  of  the  Orient,  bore  him,  for  certain  motives 
of  self-interest,  peculiar  good- will.  But  there  was  no 
city  of  the  world  in  which  the  Roman  Csesar  did  not 
reckon  many  liege-men  and  partisans,  v  And  the  very 
hands,  which  dressed  his  altars  and  crowned  his  Praeto- 
rian pavilion,  might  not  improbably  in  that  same  hour 
put  an  edge  upon  the  sabre  which  was  to  avenge  the 
injuries  of  the  too  indulgent  and  long  suffering  Anto- 
ninus. Meantime,  to  give  a  color  of  patriotism  to  hig 
treason,  Cassius  alleged  public  motives  ;  in  a  letter, 
which  he  ^vrote  after  assuming  the  purple,  he  says  : 
Wretched  empire,  miserable  state,  which  endures 
these  hungry  blood-suckers  battening  on  her  vitals !  — 
\.  worthy  man,  doubtless,  is  Marcus  ;  who,  in  his  eager- 
less  to  be  reputed  clement,  suffers  those  to  live  whose 
conduct  he  himself  abhors.  Where  is  that  L.  Cassius, 
whose  name  I  vain'y  inherit  ?  "Where  is  t'^at  Marcus, 
-  -  not   Aurelius,     mark   you,    but    Catc     Jensorius 


176  THE    C2ESABS. 

Where  the  good  old  discipline  of  ancestral  tinges,  lou^ 
since  indeed  disused,  but  now  not  so  much  as  looked 
after  in  our  aspirations  ?  Marcus  Antoninus  is  a 
scholar ;  he  enacts  the  philosopher ;  and  he  tries  con- 
clusions upon  the  four  elements,  and  upon  the  nature 
of  the  soul  ;  and  he  discours  ?s  most  learnedly  upon  the 
llonestum  ;  and  concerning  the  Summum  Bonum  he  la 
unanswerable.  Meanwhile,  is  he  learned  in  the  inter- 
ests of  the  State  ?  Can  he  argue  a  point  upon  the  public 
3Conomy  ?  You  see  what  a  host  of  sabres  is  required, 
tvhat  a  host  of  impeachments,  sentences,  executions, 
before  the  commonwealth  can  reassume  its  ancient 
ntegrity!^  What!  shall  I  esteem  as  proconsuls,  as 
governors,  those  who  for  that  end  only  deem  themselves 
invested  with  lieutenancies  or  great  senatorial  appoint- 
ments, that  they  may  gorge  themselves  with  the  provin- 
cial luxuries  and  wealth?  No  doubt  you  heard  in 
what  way  our  friend  the  philosopher  gave  the  place  of 
praetorian  prefect  to  one  who  but  thi'ee  days  before 
was  a  bankrupt,  —  insolvent,  by  G — ,  and  a  beggar. 
Be  not  you  content :  that  same  gentlemen  is  now  as 
rich  as  a  prefect  should  be  ;  and  has  been  so,  I  tell 
Vou,  any  time  these  three  days.  And  how,  I  pray  you. 
how  —  how,  my  good  sir  ?  How,  but  out  of  the  bowels 
of  the  provinces,  and  the  marrow  of  their  bones  ?  But 
to  matter,  let  them  be  rich  ;  let  them  be  blood  -suckers ; 
BO  much,  God  willing,  shall  they  regorge  into  the 
treasury  of  the   empire.     Let  but  Heaven  smile  \ipoB 


THE    C^SAKS.  177 

>ur  party,  and  tlie  Cassiani  shall  ret\irn  to  the  republic 
its  old  impersonal  supremacy.' 

But  Heaven  did  not  smile ;  nor  did  man.  Rome 
neard  with  bitter  indignation  of  this  old  traitor's  in- 
gratitude, and  his  false  mask  of  republican  civism. 
Excepting  Marcus  Aurelius  himself,  not  one  man  ^ut 
thirsted  for  revenge.  And  that  was  soon  obtained. 
He  and  all  his  supporters,  one  after  the  other,  rapidly 
fell  (as  Marcus  had  predicted)  into  snares  laid  by  tho 
ofl&cers  who  continued  true  to  their  allegiance.  Except 
the  family  and  household  of  Cassius,  there  remained  in 
a  short  time  none  for  the  vengeance  of  the  Senate,  or 
for  the  mercy  of  the  Emperor.  In  them  centred  the 
last  arrears  of  hope  and  fear,  of  chastisement  or  par- 
don, depending  upon  this  memorable  revolt.  And 
about  the  disposal  of  their  persons  arose  the  final 
question  to  which  the  case  gave  birth.  The  letters  yet 
remain  in  which  the  several  parries  interested  gave 
utterance  to  the  passions  which  possessed  them.  Faus- 
tina, the  Empress,  urged  her  husband  with  feminine 
riolence  to  adopt  against  his  prisoners  comprehensive 
kcts  of  vengeance.  '  Noli  parcere  hominibiis,'  says 
Boe,  '  qui  tibi  non  pepercerunt ;  et  nee  mihi  nee  filiis 
uostris  parcerent,''^  si  vicissent.'  And  elsewhere  she 
Irritates  his  wrath  against  the  army  as  accomplices  for 
the  time,  and  as  a  body  of  men  '  qui,  nisi  opprimuntur, 
opprimunt.'  W  ^  may  be  sure  of  the  result.  After 
commending  her  zeal  fjr  her  own  family,  he  says, 
12 


178  THE    C^SAKS. 

Ego  vero  et  ejus  liberis  parcam,  et  genero,  et  uxori , 
2t  ad  senatum  scribam  ne  aut  proscriptio  gravior  sit, 
aut  poena  crudelior ; '  adding  that,  had  his  counsels 
prevailed,  not  even  Cassius  himself  should  have  per- 
ished. As  to  his  relatives,  '  Why,'  he  asks,  '  should 
I  speak  of  pardon  to  them,  who  indeed  have  done  no 
wrong,  and  are  blameless  even  in  purpose  ?  '  Accord- 
ingly, his  letter  of  intercession  to  the  Senate  protests, 
that,  so  far  from  asking  for  further  victims  to  the  crime 
of  Avidius  Cassius,  would  to  God  he  could  call  back 
from  the  dead  many  of  those  who  had  fallen!  With 
immense  applause,  and  with  turbulent  acclamations, 
the  Senate  granted  all  his  requests  '  in  consideration  of 
his  philosophy,  of  his  long-suffering,  of  his  learning 
and  accomplishments,  of  his  nobility,  of  his  innocence.' 
And  until  a  monster  arose  who  delighted  in  the  blood 
of  the  guiltless,  it  is  recorded  that  the  posterity  of 
Avidius  Cassius  lived  in  security,  and  were  admitted 
to  honors  and  public  distinctions  by  favor  of  him, 
whose  life  and  empire  that  memorable  traitor  hai 
Bought  to  undermine  under  the  favor  of  his  guileless 
master's  top  confiding  magnanimity. 


THE    CJESAR8.  179 


CHAPTER   V. 

The  Roman  empire,  and  the  Roman  emperors,  it 
might  naturally  be  supposed  by  one  who  had  not  u 
fet  traversed  that  tremendous  chapter  in  the  histoi^ 
af  man,  would  be  likely  to  present  a  separate  and 
almost  equal  interest.  The  empire,  in  the  first  place, 
as  the  most  magnificent  monument  of  human  power 
which  our  planet  has  beheld,  must  for  that  single 
reason,  even  though  its  records  were  otherwise  of  little 
interest,  fix  upon  itself  the  very  keenest  gaze  from  all 
succeeding  ages  to  the  end  of  time.  To  trace  the 
fortunes  and  revolution  of  that  unrivalled  monarchy 
over  which  the  Roman  eagle  brooded,  to  follow  the 
dilapidations  of  that  aerial  arch,  which  silently  and 
steadily  through  seven  centuries  ascended  under  the 
colossal  architecture  of  the  children  of  Romulus,  to 
watch  the  unweaving  of  the  golden  arras,  and  step  by 
step  to  see  paralysis  stealing  over  the  once  perfect 
cohesion  of  the  republican  creations,  —  cannot  but  in- 
sure a  severe,  though  melancholy  delight.  On  its  own 
separate  account,  the  decline  of  this  throne-shattering 
power  must  and  will  engage  the  foremost  pla^.e 
tmongst  all  historical  rev  ewers.  The  '  dislimning  * 
tnd    unmoulding   of  some    mighty   pageantry    in  tha 


160  THE    CJESABS. 

Iieavens  has  its  own  appropriate  grandeurs,  no  less 
than  the  gathering  of  its  cloudy  pomps.  The  going 
down  of  the  sun  is  contemplated  with  no  less  awe 
than  his  rising.  Nor  is  any  thing  portentous  in  it? 
g;rowth,  which  is  not  also  portentous  in  the  steps  and 
'  moments '  of  its  decay.  Hence,  in  the  second  place, 
we  might  presume  a  commensurate  interest  in  the 
characters  and  fortunes  of  the  successive  emperors.  If 
the  empire  challenged  our  first  survey,  the  next  would 
seem  due  to  the  Caesars  who  guided  its  course ;  to  the 
great  ones  who  retarded,  and  to  the  bad  ones  who 
precipitated,  its  ruin. 

Such  might  be  the  natural  expectation  of  an  inex- 
perienced reader.  But  it  is  not  so.  The  Caesars, 
throughout  their  long  line,  are  not  interesting,  neither 
personally  in  themselves,  nor  derivatively  from  the 
tragic  events  to  which  their  history  is  attached.  Their 
whole  interest  lies  in  their  situation — in  the  unap- 
proachable altitude  of  their  thrones.  But  considered 
with  a  reference  to  their  human  qualities,  scarcely  one 
in  the  whole  series  can  be  viewed  with  a  human 
interest  apart  from  the  circumstances  of  his  position. 
'  Pass  like  shadows,  so  depart ! '  The  reason  for  this 
defect  of  all  personal  variety  of  interest  in  these  enor- 
mous potentates,  must  be  sought  in  the  constitution  of 
their  power  and  the  very  necessities  of  their  office 
Even  the  greatest  among  them,  those  who  by  way  of 
distinction  were  called  the  Great,  as  C'onstantine  and 


THE    C^SABS.  181 

Theodosius,  were  not  great,  for  they  were  not  mag- 
nanimous ;  nor  could  they  be  so  under  their  tenure  of 
power,  which  made  it  a  duty  to  be  suspicious,  and,  by 
fastening  upon  all  varieties  of  original  temper  one  dire 
necessity  of  bloodshed,  extinguished  under  this  monot- 
onous cloud  of  cruel  jealousy  and  everlasting  panic 
every  characteristic  feature  of  genial  human  nature, 
that  would  else  have  emerged  through  so  long  a  train 
of  princes.  There  is  a  remarkable  story  told  of  Aprip- 
pina,'  that,  upon  some  occasions,  when  a  wizard  an- 
nounced to  her,  as  truths  which  he  had  read  in  the 
heavens,  the  two  fatal  necessities  impending  over  her 
son,  —  one  that  he  should  ascend  to  empire,  the  other 
that  he  should  murder  herself,  she  replied  in  these 
stern  and  memorable  words  —  Occidat  dum  imperet. 
Upon  which  a  continental  writer  comments  thus : 
'  Never  before  or  since  have  three  such  words  issued 
from  the  lips  of  woman  ;  and  in  truth,  one  knows  not 
which  most  to  abominate  or  admire  —  the  aspiring 
princess,  or  the  loving  mother.  Meantime,  in  these 
few  words  lies  naked  to  the  day,  in  its  whole  hideous 
deformity,  the  very  essence  of  Romanism  and  the 
imperatorial  power,  and  one  might  here  consider  the 
mother  of  Nero  as  the  impersonation  of  that  monstrous 
condition.' 

This  is  true  :  Occidat  dum  imperH,  was  the  watcL- 
i^ord  and  very  cognizance  of  the  Roman  iraperator, 
But  almost  equally  it  was  his  watchword  —  Occidatw 


iSS  THE    C^SABS. 

ium  imperet.  Doing  or  suffering,  the  Caesars  were 
ilmost  equally  involved  in  bloodshed  ;  very  few  that 
were  not  murderers,  and  nearly  all  were  themselves 
murdered. 

The  empire,  then,  must  be  regarded  as  the  primary 
object  of  our  interest ;  and  it  is  in  this  way  only  that 
any  secondary  interest  arises  for  the  emperors.  Now, 
with  respect  to  the  empire,  the  first  question  which 
presents  itself  is,  —  Whence,  that  is,  from  what  causes 
and  from  what  era,  we  are  to  date  its  decline  ?  Gib- 
bon, as  we  all  know,  dates  it  from  the  reign  of  Com- 
modus ;  but  certainly  upon  no  sufficient,  or  even 
plausible  grounds.  Our  own  opinion  we  shall  state 
boldly  :  the  empire  itself,  from  the  very  era  of  its 
establishment,  was  one  long  decline  of  the  Roman 
power.  A  vast  monarchy  had  been  created  and  con- 
solidated by  the  all-conquering  instincts  of  a  republic^ 
cradled  and  nursed  in  wars,  and  essentially  warlike  by 
means  of  all  its  institutions  ^  and  by  the  habits  of  the 
people.  This  monarchy  had  been  of  too  slovva  growth 
—  too  gradual,  and  too  much  according  to  the  regular 
stages  of  nature  herself  in  its  development,  to  have  any 
chance  of  being  other  than  well  cemented :  the  cohe- 
sion of  its  parte  was  intense  ;  seven  centuries  of  growth 
demand  one  or  two  at  least  for  palpable  decay  ;  and  it 
is  only  for  harlequin  empires  like  that  of  Napoleon, 
run  up  with  the  rapidity  of  pantomime,  to  fall  asuudei 
ander  the  instant  re-action   of  a  few  false  moves  ir 


.     THE    C^SABS.  183 

politics,  or  a  single  unfortunate  campaign.  Hence  it 
was,  and  from  the  prudence  of  Augustus  acting  through 
%  very  long  reign,  sustained  at  no  very  distant  interval 
by  the  personal  inspection  and  revisions  of  Hadrian, 
that  for  some  time  the  Roman  power  seemed  to  be 
stationary.  What  else  could  be  expected  ?  The  mere 
strength  of  the  impetus  derived  from  the  republican 
institutions  could  not  but  propagate  itself,  and  caus3 
even  a  motion  in  advance,  for  some  time  after  those 
institutions  had  themselves  given  way.  And,  besides, 
th'e  military  institutions  survived  all  others ;  and  the 
army  continued  very  much  the  same  in  its  discipline 
and  composition,  long  after  Rome  and  all  its  civic  in- 
stitutions had  bent  before  an  utter  revolution.  It  was 
very  possible  even  that  emperors  should  have  arisen 
with  martial  propensities,  and  talents  capable  of  mask- 
ing, for  many  years,  by  specious  but  ti-ansitory  con- 
quests, the  causes  that  were  silently  sapping  the  foun- 
dations of  Roman  supremacy ;  and  thus  by  accidents  of 
personal  character  and  taste,  an  empire  might  even 
have  expanded  itself  in  appearance,  which,  by  all  its 
permanent  and  real  tendencies,  was  even  then  shrink- 
ing within  narrower  limits,  and  travelling  downwards 
\o  dissolution.  In  reality  one  such  emperor  there  was. 
Trajan,  whether  by  martial  inclinations,  or  (as  is 
supposed  by  some)  by  dissatisfaction  with  his  own 
pcsition  at  Rome,  when  brought  into  more  immediate 
Nnnection  with  the  senate,  was  driven  into  needlesa 


184  THE    C^SARS. 

war  ;  and  he  achieved  conquests  in  the  directiou  of 
Dacia  as  well  as  Parthia.  But  that  these  conquests 
were  not  substantial ,  —  that  they  were  connected  by 
no  true  cement  of  cohesion  with  the  existing  empire,  is 
evident  from  the  rapidity  with  which  they  were  aban- 
doned. In  the  next  reign,  the  empire  had  already 
recoiled  within  its  former  limits  ;  and  in  two  reigns 
further  on,  under  Marcus  Antoninus,  though  a  prince 
of  elevated  character  and  warlike  in  his  policy,  we  find 
such  concessions  of  territory  made  to  the  Marcomanni 
and  others,  as  indicate  too  plainly  the  shrinking  ener- 
gies of  a  waning  empire.  In  reality,  if  we  consider 
the  polar  opposition,  in  point  of  interest  and  situation, 
between  the  great  officers  of  the  republic  and  the 
Augustus  or  Caesar  of  the  empire,  we  cannot  fail  to  see 
the  immense  effect  which  that  difference  must  have 
had  upon  the  permanent  spirit  of  conquest.  Caesar  was 
either  adopted  or  elected  to  a  situation  of  infinite  luxury 
and  enjoyment.  He  had  no  interests  to  secure  by 
fighting  in  person  ;  and  he  had  a  powerful  interest  in 
preventing  others  from  fighting  ;  since  in  that  way  only 
\.e  could  raise  up  competitors  to  himself,  and  dangerous 
aeducers  of  the  army.  A  consul,  on  the  other  hand, 
or  great  lieutenant  of  the  senate,  had  nothing  to  enjoy 
or  to  hope  for,  when  his  term  of  office  should  have 
expired,  unless  according  to  his  success  in  creating 
military  fame  and  influence  for  himself.  Thosa 
Caesars  who  fought  whilst  the  empire  was  or  seemed  tt 


THE  cMSA.na.  185 

be  stationary,  as  Trajan,  did  so  from  personal  taste. 
Those  who  fought  in  after  centuries,  when  the  decay 
became  apparent,  and  dangers  drew  nearer,  as  Aure- 
lian,  did  so  from  the  necessities  of  fear ;  and  undei 
aeither  impulse  were  they  likely  to  make  durable 
conquests.  The  spirit  of  conquest  having  therefore 
departed  at  the  very  time  when  conquest  would  have 
become  more  difficult  even  to  the  republican  energies, 
both  from  remoteness  of  ground  and  from  the  martial 
character  of  the  chief  nations  which  stood  heyond  the 
frontier,  —  it  was  a  matter  of  necessity  that  -svith  the 
republican  institutions  should  expire  the  whole  principle 
of  territorial  aggrandizement ;  and  that,  if  the  empire 
seemed  to  be  stationary  for  some  time  after  its  estab- 
lishment by  Julius,  and  its  final  settlement  by  Augustus, 
this  was  through  no  strength  of  its  own,  or  inherent  in 
its  own  constitution,  but  through  the  continued  action 
of  that  strength  which  ifhad  inherited  from  the  repub- 
lic. In  a  philosophical  sense,  therefore,  it  may  be 
affirmed,  that  the  empire  of  the  Caesars  was  always  in 
decline ;  ceasing  to  go  forward,  it  could  not  do  other 
than  retrograde  ;  and  even  the  first  appearances  of  de- 
cline can,  with  no  propriety,  be  referred  to  the  reign  oi 
Commodus.  His  vices  exposed  him  to  public  contempt 
tnd  assassination ;  but  neither  one  nor  the  other  had 
my  effect  upon  the  strength  of  the  empire.  Here, 
therefore,  is  one  just  subject  of  oomplaint  against 
Bibbon,  that  he  has  dated  the  declension  of  the  RcnaD 


(86  THE    C^SABS. 

power  from  a  commencement  arbitrarily  assumed ; 
anottier,  and  a  heavier,  is,  that  lie  has  failed  to  notice 
the  steps  and  separate  indications  of  decline  as  they 
arose,  —  the  moments  (to  speak  in  the  language  of 
dynamics)  through  which  the  decline  travelled  onwards 
to  its  consummation.  It  is  also  a  grievous  offence  as 
regards  the  true  purposes  of  history,  —  and  one  which, 
in  a  complete  exposition  of  the  imperial  history,  we 
should  have  a  right  to  insist  on,  —  that  Gibbon  brings 
forward  only  such  facts  as  allow  of  a  scenical  treatment, 
and  seems  everywhere,  by  the  glancing  style  of  Lis 
allusions,  to  presuppose  an  acquaintance  with  that  very 
history  which  he  undertakes  to  deliver.  Our  immedi« 
ate  purpose,  however,  is  simply  to  characterize  the 
office  of  emperor,  and  to  notice  such  events  and  changes 
as  operated  for  evil,  and  for  a  final  effect  of  decay,  upon 
the  Caesars  or  their  empire.  As  the  best  means  of 
realizing  it,  we  shall  rapidly  review  the  history  of  both, 
premising  that  we  confine  ourselves  to  the  true  Caesars, 
and  the  true  empire  of  the  West. 

The  first  overt  act  of  weakness  —  the  first  expres- 
sion of  conscious  declension,  as  regarded  the  foreign 
enemies  of  Rome,  occurred  in  the  reign  of  Hadrian ; 
for  it  is  a  very  different  thing  to  forbear  making  con- 
quests, and  to  renounce  them  when  made.  It  is 
possible,  however,  that  the  cession  then  made  of 
Mesopotamia  and  Armenia,  however  sure  to  be  inter- 
preted into  the  language  of  fear  by  the  enemy,  die 


THE    CXSARS.  187 

aol  imply  any  such  principle  in  this  emperor.  He 
was  of  a  civic  and  paternal  spirit,  and  anxious  foi 
the  substantial  welfare  of  the  empire  rather  than  ite 
ustentalious  glory.  The  internal  administration  of 
affairs  had  very  much  gone  into  neglect  since  the 
times  of  Augustus ;  and  Hadrian  was  perhaps  right  in 
supposing  that  he  could  effect  more  public  good  by  an 
extensive  progress  through  the  empire,  and  by  a  per- 
sonal correction  of  abuses,  than  by  any  military  enter- 
prise. It  is,  besides,  asserted,  that  he  received  an 
indemnity  in  money  for  the  provinces  beyond  the 
Euphrates.  But  still  it  remains  true,  that  in  his  reign 
the  God  Terminus  made  his  first  retrograde  motion  ; 
and  this  emperor  became  naturally  an  object  of  public 
obloquy  at  Rome,  and  his  name  fell  under  the  super- 
stitious ban  of  a  fatal  tradition  connected  with  the 
foundation  of  the  capital.  The  two  Antonines,  Titus 
and  Marcus,  who  came  next  in  succession,  were  truly 
good  and  patriotic  princes  ;  perhaps  the  only  princes  in 
the  whole  series  who  combined  the  virtues  of  private 
and  of  public  life.  In  their  reigns  the  frontier  line  was 
DUiintained  in  its  integrity,  and  at  the  expense  of  some 
severe  fighting  under  Marcus,  who  was  a  strenuous 
general  al  the  same  time  that  he  was  a  severe  student. 
It  is,  however,  true,  as  we  observed  above,  that,  by 
allowing  a  settlement  within  the  Roman  frontier  to  a 
barbarous  people.  Marcus  Aurelius  raised  the  firsf 
ominous  precedent  in   favor  of  those  Gothic,  Vandal, 


188  THE    C^SABS. 

and  Frankish  hives,  who  were  as  yet  hidden  behind  a 
cloud  of  years.  Homes  had  been  obtained  by  Trana- 
Danubian  barbarians  upon  the  sacred  territory  of  Rome 
and  Caesar  :  that  fact  remained  upon  tradition  :  whilst 
the  terms  upon  which  they  had  been  obtained,  how 
much  or  how  little  connected  with  fear,  necessarily 
became  liable  to  doubt  and  to  oblivion.  Here  we  pause 
to  remark,  that  the  first  twelve  Caesars,  together  with 
Nerva,  Trajan,  Hadrian,  and  the  two  Antonines, 
making  seventeen  emperors,  compose  the  first  of  four 
nearly  equal  groups,  who  occupied  the  throne  in  suc- 
cession until  the  extinction  of  the  Western  Empire. 
And  at  this  point  be  it  observed,  —  that  is,  at  the 
termination  of  the  first  group,  —  we  take  leave  of  all 
genuine  virtue.  In  no  one  of  the  succeeding  princes, 
if  we  except  Alexander  Severus,  do  we  meet  with  any 
goodness  of  heart,  or  even  amiableness  of  manners. 
The  best  of  the  future  emperors,  in  a  public  sense, 
were  harsh  and  repulsive  in  private  character. 

The  second  group,  as  we  have  classed  them,  termi- 
nating with  Philip  the  Arab,  commences  with  Commo- 
dus.  This  unworthy  prince,  although  the  son  of  the 
excellent  Marcus  Antoninus,  turned  out  a  monster  of 
debtuchery.  At  the  moment  of  his  father's  death,  he 
was  present  in  person  at  the  head- quarters  of  the  army 
an  the  Danube,  and  of  necessity  partook  in  many  of 
their  hardships.  This  it  was  which  furnis'ied  his  evU 
counsellors  with  their  sole    argument  for  urging  hit 


THE    C^SAKS.  189 

ieparture  to  the  capital.  A  council  having  been  con- 
rened,  the  faction  of  court  sycophants  pressed  upon 
his  attention  the  inclemency  of  the  climate,  contrasting 
it  with  the  genial  skies  and  sunny  fields  of  Italy ;  and 
the  season,  which  happened  to  be  winter,  gave  strength 
to  their  representations.  What !  would  the  emperor 
be  content  for  ever  to  hew  out  the  frozen  water  with  an 
axe  before  he  could  assuage  his  thirst  ?  And,  again, 
the  total  want  of  fruit-trees  —  did  that  recommend  their 
present  station  as  a  fit  one  for  the  imperial  court? 
Commodus,  ashamed  to  found  his  objections  to  the 
station  upon  grounds  so  unsoldierly  as  these,  afi'ected 
to  be  moved  by  political  reasons  :  some  great  senatorial 
house  might  take  advantage  of  his  distance  from  home, 
—  might  seize  the  palace,  fortify  it,  and  raise  levies  in 
Italy  capable  of  sustaining  its  pretensions  to  the  throne. 
These  arguments  were  combated  by  Pompeianus,  who, 
besides  his  personal  weight  as  an  officer,  had  married 
the  eldest  sister  of  the  young  emperor.  Shame  pre- 
vailed for  the  present  with  Commodus,  and  he  dis- 
vnissed  the  council  with  an  assurance  that  he  would 
tiink  farther  of  it.  The  sequel  was  easy  to  foresee. 
Orders  were  soon  issued  for  the  departure  of  the  court 
to  Rome,  and  the  task  of  managing  the  barbarians  of 
Dacia  was  del>3gated  to  lieutenants.  The  system  upon 
which  these  officers  executed  their  commission  was  • 
mixed  one  of  terror  and  persuasion.  Some  they  defeat- 
ed in  battle;  and  these  were  the  majority  ;  for  Herodinn 


190  THE    CitSAUS. 

»ays,  TrXctoTOus  toiv  ftapfiapwv  ottXois  i)(upu)(TavTO  :  others 
they  bribed  into  peace  by  large  sums  of  money.  And 
no  doubt  this  last  article  in  the  policy  of  Commodua 
was  that  which  led  Gibbon  to  assign  to  this  reign  the 
first  rudiments  of  the  Roman  declension.  But  it  should 
be  remembered,  that,  virtually,  this  policy  was  but  the 
further  prosecution  of  that  which  had  already  been 
adopted  by  Marcus  Aurelius.  Concessions  and  temper- 
aments of  any  sort  or  degree  showed  that  the  Pannonian 
frontier  was  in  too  formidable  a  condition  to  be  treated 
with  uncompromising  rigor.  To  afjiepifxi'oy  wvov/xcvos, 
purchasing  an  immunity  from  all  further  anxiety,  Corn- 
modus  (as  the  historian  expresses  it)  iravra  kSiSov  ra 
aiTovfjceia  —  conceded  all  demands  whatever.  His  jour- 
ney to  Rome  was  one  continued  festival :  and  the  whole 
population  of  Rome  turned  out  to  welcome  him.  At 
this  period  he  was  undoubtedly  the  darling  of  the 
people :  his  personal  beauty  was  splendid  ;  and  he  was 
connected  by  blood  with  some  of  the  greatest  nobility. 
Over  this  flattering  scene  of  hope  and  triumph  clouds 
Boon  gathered ;  with  the  mob,  indeed,  there  is  reason 
to  think  that  he  continued  a  favorite  to  the  last ;  but 
the  respectable  part  of  the  citizens  were  speedily 
disgusted  with  his  self-degradation,  and  came  to  hate 
him  even  more  than  ever  or  by  any  class  he  had  been 
loved.  The  Roman  pride  never  shows  itself  more 
conspicuously  throughout  all  history,  than  in  the  aliena 
ion  of  heart  which  inevitably  followed  any  great  am 


THE    C^SARS.  191 

tontinaed  on  rages  upon  his  own  majesty,  committed 
by  their  emperor.  Cruelties  the  most  atrocious,  acts  of 
Vengeance  the  most  bloody,  fatricide,  parricide,  all  were 
viewed  with  more  toleration  than  oblivion  of  his  own 
inviolable  sanctity.  Hence  we  imagine  the  wrath  with 
which  Rome  would  behold  Commodus,  under  the  eyes 
of  four  hundred  thousand  spectators,  making  himself 
a  party  to  the  contests  of  gladiators.  In  his  earlier 
exhibition  as  an  archer,  it  is  possible  that  his  matchlesw 
dexterity,  and  his  unerring  eye,  would  avail  to  mitigate 
the  censures :  but  when  the  Roman  Imperator  actually 
descended  to  the  arena  in  the  garb  and  equipments  of 
a  servile  prize-fighter,  and  personally  engaged  in  com- 
bat with  such  antagonists,  having  previously  submitted 
to  their  training  and  discipline  —  the  public  indigna- 
tion rose  to  a  height,  which  spoke  aloud  the  language 
of  encouragement  to  conspiracy  and  treason.  These 
were  not  wanting ;  three  memorable  plots  against  his 
life  were  defeated ;  one  of  them  (that  of  Maternus,  the 
robber)  accompanied  with  romantic  circumstances,''' 
Ik^hich  we  have  narrated  in  an  earlier  paper  of  this 
Beries.  Another  was  set  on  foot  by  his  eldest  sister, 
Lucilla ;  nor  did  her  close  relationship  protect  her  from 
capital  punishment.  In  that  instance,  the  immediate 
agent  of  her  purposes,  Quintianus,  a  young  man,  of 
signal  resolution  and  daring,  who  had  attempted  to  stab 
the  emperor  at  the  entrance  of  the  amphitheatre,  though 
baffled  in  his  purpose,  uttered  a  word  which  rang  con 


192  THE    CXSARS. 

linually  in  the  ears  of  Commodus,  and  poisoned  his 
Deace  of  mind  for  ever.  His  vengeance,  perhaps,  wai 
thus  more  effectually  accomplished  than  if  he  had  at 
once  dismissed  his  victim  from  life.  '  1'he  senate,'  hfl 
had  said,  '  send  thee  this  through  me : '  and  hence- 
forward the  senate  was  the  object  of  unslumberiug 
suspicions  to  the  emperor.  Yet  the  public  suspicions 
settled  upon  a  different  quarter  ;  and  a  very  memorable 
scene  must  have  pointed  his  own  in  the  same  direction, 
supposing  that  he  had  been  previously  blind  to  his 
danger. 

On  a  day  of  great  solemnity,  when  Rome  had  as- 
sembled her  myriads  in  the  amphitheatre,  just  at  the 
very  moment  when  the  nobles,  the  magistrates,  the 
priests,  all,  in  short,  that  was  venerable  or  conse- 
crated in  the  State,  with  the  Imperator  in  their  centre, 
had  taken  their  seats,  and  were  waiting  for  the  opening 
of  the  shows,  a  stranger,  in  the  robe  of  a  philosopher, 
bearing  a  staff  in  his  hand,  (which  also  was  the  pro- 
fessional ensign*^  of  a  philosopher,)  stepped  forward, 
and,  by  the  waving  of  his  hand,  challenged  the  atten- 
tion of  Commodus.  Deep  silence  ensued  :  upon  which, 
in  a  few  words,  ominous  to  the  ear  as  the  handwriting 
on  the  wall  to  the  eye  of  Belshazzar,  the  stranger 
unfolded  to  Commodus  the  instant  peril  which  menaced 
both  his  life  and  his  throne,  from  his  great  servant  Pe- 
rennius.  What  personal  purpose  of  benefit  to  himself 
this  stranger  might  have   connected  with  his  pablic 


THE    C^SAKS.  193 

uraming,  or  by  whom  he  might  have  been  suborned, 
ivas  never  discovered ;  for  he  was  instantly  arrested 
by  the  agents  of  the  great  officer  whom  he  had  de- 
nounced, dragged  away  to  punishment,  and  put  to  a 
cruel  death.  Commodus  dissembled  his  panic  for  the 
present ;  but  soon  after,  having  received  undeniable 
proofs  (as  is  alleged)  of  the  treason  imputed  to  Peren- 
nius,  in  the  shape  of  a  coin  which  had  been  struck  by 
his  son,  he  caused  the  father  to  be  assassinated  ;  and, 
on  the  same  day,  by  means  of  forged  letters,  before 
this  news  could  reach  the  son,  who  commanded  the 
Illyrian  armies,  he  lured  him  also  to  destruction,  under 
the  belief  that  he  was  obeying  the  summons  of  his 
father  to  a  private  interview  on  the  Italian  frontier. 
So  perished  those  enemies,  if  enemies  they  really 
were.  But  to  these  tragedies  succeeded  others  far 
more  comprehensive  in  their  mischief,  and  in  more 
continuous  succession  than  is  recorded  upon  any  other 
page  of  universal  history.  Rome  was  ravaged  by  a 
pestilence  —  by  a  famine  —  by  riots  amounting  to  a 
civil  war  —  by  a  dreadful  massacre  of  the  unarmed 
mob  —  by  shocks  of  earthquake  —  and,  finally,  by  a 
fire  which  consumed  the  national  bank,"*  and  the  most 
sumptuous  buildings  of  the  city.  To  these  horrors, 
with  a  rapidity  characterist'c  of  the  Roman  depravity, 
fcjid  possibly  only  under  the  most  extensive  demorali- 
Bation  of  the  public  mind,  succeeded  festivals  of  gor- 
g^eous  pomp,  and  amphi theatrical  exhibitions,  upon  a 
13 


194  IHJS    C-a;SARS> 

Bcale  of  grandeur  absolutely  unparalleled  by  all  former 
attempts.  Then  were  beheld,  and  familiarized  to  the 
eyes  of  the  Roman  mob  ^-  to  children  —  and  to  women, 
animals  as  yet  known  to  us,  says  Herodian,  only  in 
pictures.  Whatever  strange  or  rare  animal  could  be 
drawn  from  the  depths  of  India,  from  Siam  and  Pegu, 
or  from  the  unvisited  nooks  'of  Ethiopia,  were  now 
brought  together  as  subjects  for  the  archery  of  the 
universal  lord.'^  Invitations  (and  the  invitations  of 
kings  are  commands)  had  been  scattered  on  this  occa- 
sion profusely  ;  not,  as  heretofore,  to  individuals  or  to 
families  —  but,  as  was  in  proportion  to  the  occasion 
where  an  emperor  was  the  chief  performer,  to  nations. 
People  were  summoned  by  circles  of  longitude  and 
latitude  to  come  and  see  [^eacra/ievot  a  fir]  irporepov  jxi'jTt 
eo)paKi<jav  iitr]rf.  aKTjKoeiaav  —  things  that  eye  had  not 
seen  nor  ear  heard  of]  the  specious  miracles  of  nature 
brought  together  from  arctic  and  from  tropic  deserts, 
Dutting  forth  their  strength,  their  speed,  or  their  beauty, 
vind  glorifying  by  their  deaths  the  matchless  hand  of 
the  Roman  king.  There  was  beheld  the  lion  from 
Bilidulgerid,  and  the  leopard  from  Hindostan  —  the 
rein-deer  from  polar  latitudes  —  the  antelope  from  the 
Zaara  —  and  the  leigh,  or  gigantic  stag,  from  Britain. 
Thither  came  the  buffalo  and  the  bison,  the  white  bull 
of  Northmnberland  and  Galloway,  the  ixnicorn  from 
the  regions  of  Nepaul  or  Thibet,  the  rhinoceros  and 
flic  river-horse   from   Senegal,    w'th    the   elephant   o. 


THE    C^SABS.  199 

Ceylon  or  Slam.  The  ostrich  and  the  cameleopard, 
the  wild  ass  and  the  zebra,  the  chamois  and  the  ibex 
of  Angora,  —  all  brought  their  tributes  of  beauty  oi 
deformity  to  these  vast  aceldamas  of  Rome :  their 
savage  voices  ascended  in  tumultuous  uproar  to  the 
chambers  of  the  capitol  :  a  million  of  spectators  sat 
round  them :  standing  in  the  centre  was  a  single  statu- 
esque figure  —  the  imperial  sagittary,  beautiful  as  an 
Antinous,  and  majestic  as  a  Jupiter,  whose  hand  wai 
BO  steady  and  whose  eye  so  true,  that  he  was  never 
known  to  miss,  and  who,  in  this  accomplishment  at 
least,  was  so  absolute  in  his  excellence,  that,  as  we  are 
assured  by  a  writer  not  disposed  to  flatter  him,  the 
very  foremost  of  the  Parthian  archers  and  of  the  Mau- 
ritanian  lancers  [Ilap^vaiwv  oi  to^iktjv  a.KpL(3uvi'T€<;,  koI 
"Mavpovcriityv  oi  aKoiTL^elv  aptcrroi]  were  not  able  to  con- 
tend with  him.  Juvenal,  in  a  well  known  passage  upon 
the  disproportionate  endings  of  illustrious  careers,  draw- 
ing one  of  his  examples  from  Marius,  says  that  he  ought, 
for  his  own  glory,  and  to  make  his  end  correspondent 
;o  his  life,  to  have  died  at  the  moment  when  he  de- 
scended from  his  triumphal  chariot  at  the  portals  of 
the  capitol.  And  of  Commodus,  in  like  manner,  it 
aiay  be  affirmed,  that,  had  he  died  in  the  exercise  of 
his  peculiar  art,  with  a  hecatomb  of  victims  rendering 
lomage  to  his  miraculous  skill,  by  the  regularity  of 
6xe  files  which  they  presented,  as  they  lay  stretched 
»ut  dymg  or  dead  upon    be   arena.  —  he  would  hare 


196  THE    C^SAES. 

left  a  splendid  and  characteristic  impression  of  him- 
ielf  upon  that  nation  of  spectators  who  had  witn  essed 
his  performance.  He  was  the  noblest  artist  in  his 
own  profession  that  the  world  had  seen  —  in  archery 
he  was  the  Robin  Hood  of  Rome  ;  he  was  in  the  very 
meridian  of  his  youth  ;  and  he  was  the  most  beautiful 
tnan  of  his  own  times  [twv  KaG"  kavrov  avOponrwv  KaWu 
KvTrpeTre'cTTaTos].  He  would  therefore  have  looked  the 
part  admirably  of  the  dying  gladiator ;  and  he  would 
have  died  in  his  natural  vocation.  But  it  was  ordered 
otherwise  ;  his  death  was  destined  to  private  malice, 
and  to  an  ignoble  hand.  And  much  obscurity  still 
rests  upon  the  motives  of  the  assassins,  though  its  cir- 
cumstances are  reported  with  unusual  minuteness  of 
detail.  One  thing  is  evident,  that  the  public  and 
patriotic  motives  assigned  by  the  perpetrators  as  the 
remote  causes  of  their  conspiracy,  cannot  have  been 
the  true  ones. 

The  grave  historian  may  sum  up  his  character  of 
Comruodus  by  saying  that,  however  richly  endowed 
vyith  natural  gifts,  he  abused  them  all  to  bad  purposes ; 
that  he  derogated  from  his  noble  ancestors,  and  dis- 
avowed the  obligations  of  his  illustrious  name ;  and, 
Rs  the  climax  of  his  offences,  that  he  dishonored  the 
purple  —  ai(rxpot<i  i-mTrjSevixaaiv  —  by  the  baseness  of 
his  pursuits.  All  that  is  true,  and  more  than  that.  But 
ihese  considerations  were  not  of  a  nature  to  affect  his 
parasitical  attendants  very  nearly  or  keenly.     Yet  thi 


THE    C^SAKS.  19T 

itory  runs  —  that  Marcia,  his  privileged  mistress,  deeply 
Effected  by  tlie  anticipation  of  some  further  outrages 
upon  his  high  dignity  which  he  was  then  meditating, 
had  carried  the  importunity  of  her  deprecations  too  far ; 
that  the  irritated  emperor  had  consequently  inscribed 
her  name,  in  company  with  others,  (whom  he  had 
reason  to  tax  with  the  same  offence,  or  whom  he  sus- 
pected of  similar  sentiments,)  in  his  little  black  book, 
or  pocket  souvenir  of  death ;  that  this  book,  being  left 
under  the  cushion  of  a  sofa,  had  been  conveyed  into 
the  hands  of  Marcia  by  a  little  pet  boy,  called  Philo- 
Commodus,  who  was  caressed  equally  by  the  emperor 
and  by  Marcia ;  that  she  had  immediately  called  to  her 
ttid,  and  to  the  participation  of  her  plot,  those  who 
participated  in  her  danger;  and  that  the  proximity  of 
their  own  intended  fate  had  prescribed  to  them  an 
immediate  attempt;  the  circumstances  of  which  were 
these.  At  mid-day  the  emperor  was  accustomed  to 
bathe,  and  at  the  same  time  to  take  refreshments.  On 
this  occasion,  Marcia,  agreeably  to  her  custom,  prb- 
sented  him  with  a  goblet  of  wine  medicated  with 
poison.  Of  this  winb,  having  just  returned  from  the 
fatigues  of  the  chase,  Commodus  drank  freely,  and 
almost  immediately  fell  into  heavy  slumbers ;  from 
iFhich,  however,  he  was  soon  aroused  by  deadly  sick- 
ness. That  was  a  case  which  the  conspirators  had  not 
taken  into  their  calculatior.s ;  and  they  now  began  to 
Sear  that  the  violent  vomiting  which  succeeded  might 


198  THE    C^SARS. 

throw  oif  the  poison.  There  was  no  time  to  be  lofet : 
and  the  barbarous  Marcia,  who  had  so  often  slept  in 
the  arras  of  the  young  emperor,  was  the  person  tc 
propose  thai  he  should  now  be  strangled.  A  ycung 
gladiator,  named  Narcissus,  was  therefore  introduced 
into  the  room;  what  passed  is  not  known  circumstan- 
tially :  but,  as  the  emperor  was  young  aud  athletic, 
though  off  his  guard  at  the  moment,  and  under  the 
disadvantage  of  sickness,  and  as  he  had  himself  been 
regularly  trained  in  the  gladiatorial  discipline,  there 
can  be  little  doubt  that  the  vile  assassin  would  meet 
with  a  desperate  resistance.  And  thus,  after  all,  there 
is  good  reason  to  think  that  the  emperor  resigned  his 
life  in  the  character  of  a  dying  gladiator.®' 

So  perished  the  eldest  and  sole  surviving  son  of  the 
great  Marcus  Antoninus ;  and  the  crown  passed  into 
the  momentary  possession  of  two  old  men,  who  reigned 
in  succession  each  for  a  few  weeks.  The  first  of  these 
was  Pertinax,  an  upright  man,  a  good  officer,  and  an 
unseasonable  reformer ;  unseasonable  for  those  times, 
but  more  so  for  himself.  Lsetus,  the  ringleader  in  the 
assassination  of  Commodus,  had  been  at  that  time  the 
praetorian  prefect  —  an  office  which  a  German  writer 
considers  as  best  represented  to  modern  ideas  by  the 
Turkish  post  of  grand  vizier.  Needing  a  protector  at 
this  moment,  he  naturally  fixed  his  eyes  upon  Pertinax 
—  as  then  holding  the  powerful  command  of  city  pra 
fett  (or  governor  of  Rome).     Him  therefore  he  recom 


THE    C^SAKS.  199 

aended  to  the  soldiery  —  that  is,  to  the  prietoriixn 
cohorts.  The  soldiery  had  no  particular  objection  to 
the  old  general,  if  he  and  they  could  agree  upon 
terms ;  his  age  being  doubtless  appreciated  as  a  first- 
rate  recommendation,  in  a  case  where  it  insured  a 
speedy  renewal  of  the  lucrative  bargain. 

The  only  demur  arose  with  Pertinax  himself:  he 
had  been  leader  of  the  troops  in  Britain,  then  superin- 
tendent of  the  police  in  Rome,  thirdly  proconsul  in 
Africa,  and  finally  consul  and  governor  of  Rome.  In 
these  great  oflicial  stations  he  stood  near  enough  to  the 
throne  to  observe  the  dangers  with  which  it  was  sur- 
rounded ;  and  it  is  asserted  that  he  declined  the  ofibred 
dignity.  But  it  is  added,  that,  finding  the  choice 
allowed  him  lay  between  immediate  death  ^^  and  ac- 
ceptance, he  closed  with  the  proposals  of  the  prsetorian 
cohorts,  at  the  rate  of  about  ninety-six  pounds  per 
man ;  which  largess  he  paid  by  bringing  to  sale  the 
rich  furniture  of  the  last  emperor.  The  danger  which 
usually  threatened  a  Roman  Caesar  in  such  cases  was 
—  lest  he  shoiJd  not  be  able  to  fulfil  his  contract. 
But  in  the  case  of  Pertinax  the  danger  began  from  the 
moment  when  he  had  fulfilled  \\.  Conceiving  himself 
to  be  now  released  from  his  dependency,  he  com- 
menced his  reforms,  civil  as  well  as  military,  with  8 
geal  which  alarmed  all  those  who  had  an  interest  in 
maintaining  the  old  abuses.  To  two  great  factions  he 
<hu8  made  himself  espncially  obnoxious — to  the  praf 


EOO  THE    CJESXlEiS. 

torian  cohorts,  and  to  the  courtiers  under  the  last 
reign.  The  connecting  link  between  these  two  parties 
was  Listus,  who  belonged  personally  to  the  last,  and 
Btill  retained  his  influence  with  the  first.  Possibly  his 
fears  were  alarmed ;  but,  at  all  events,  his  cupidity 
was  not  satisfied.  He  conceived  himself  to  have  been 
ill  rewarded ;  and,  immediately  resorting  to  the  same 
weapons  which  he  had  used  against  Commodus,  he 
stimulated  the  praetorian  guards  to  murder  the  empe- 
ror. Three  hundred  of  them  pressed  into  the  palace : 
Pertinax  attempted  to  harangue  them,  and  to  vindicate 
himself;  but  not  being  able  to  obtain  a  hearing,  he 
folded  his  robe  about  his  head,  called  upon  Jove  the 
Avenger,  and  was  immediately  dispatched. 

The  throne  was  again  empty  after  a  reign  of  about 
eighty  days ;  and  now  came  the  memorable  scandal  of 
putting  up   the  empire   to  auction.     There   were  two 
bidders,  Sulpicianus  and  Didius*'^  Julianus.    The  first, 
however,  at  that  time  governor  of  Rome,  lay  under  a 
weight  of  suspicion,  being  the  father-in-law  of  Per-    ^ 
tinax,   and  likely  enough  to  exact  vengeance  for  hig 
murder.     He  was  besides  outbid  by  Julianus.      Sulpi- 
cian  oflFered  about  one  hundred  and   sixty  pounds  a 
man  to  the  guards  ;   his  rival  offered  two  hundred,  and 
assured   them  besides   of  immediate   payment ;    '  for, 
laid  he,   '  I  have   the  money  at  home,  without  need 
'ng  to    raise   it   from  the  possessions  of  the  crown. 
iTpon   this    the    empii-e    was    knocked    down    to    the 


THE    C^SARS.  201 

highest  bidder.  So  shocking,  however,  was  this  ar- 
rangement to  the  Roman  pride,  that  the  guards  durst 
not  leave  their  new  creation  ^vithout  military  piotec- 
tion.  The  resentment  of  an  unarmed  mob,  however, 
soon  ceased  to  be  of  foremost  importance ;  this  resent- 
ment extended  rapidly  to  all  the  frontiers  of  the  em- 
pire, where  the  armies  felt  that  the  praetorian  cohorts 
had  no  exclusive  title  to  give  away  the  throne,  and 
their  leaders  felt,  that,  in  a  contest  of  this  nature,  their 
own  claims  were  incomparably  superior  to  those  of  the 
present  occupant.  Three  great  candidates  therefore 
started  forward  —  Septimius  Severus,  who  commanded 
the  armies  in  Illyria,  Pescennius  Niger  in  Syria,  and 
Albinus  in  Britain.  Severus,  as  the  nearest  to  Rome, 
marched  and  possessed  himself  of  that  city.  Ven- 
geance followed  upon  all  parties  concerned  in  the  late 
murder.  Julianus,  unable  to  complete  his  bargain,  had 
already  been  put  to  death,  as  a  deprecatory  offering 
to  the  approaching  army.  Severus  himself  inflicted 
death  upon  Lsetus,  and  dismissed  the  praetorian  cohorts. 
Thence  marching  against  his  Syrian  rival,  Niger,  who 
had  formerly  been  his  friend,  and  who  was  not  want- 
ing in  military  skill,  he  overthrew  him  in  three  great 
battles.  Niger  fled  to  Antioch,  the  seat  of  his  lat* 
government,  and  was  there  decapitated.  Meantime 
»\lbinu8,  the  •  British  commander-in-chief,  had  already 
been  won  over  by  the  title  of  Ctesar,  or  adopted  heii 
to  the  new  Augustus.     But  the  hnllowness  of  this  bribe 


202  THE    C^SAES. 

Boon  became  apparent,  and  the  two  competitors  met 
to  decide  their  pretensions  at  Lyons.  In  the  greav, 
battle  which  followed,  Severus  fell  from  his  horse,  and 
was  at  first  supposed  to  be  dea'd.  But  recovering,  he 
defeated  his  rival,  who  immediately  committed  suicide. 
Severus  displayed  his  ferocious  temper  sufficiently  by 
sending  the  head  of  Albinus  to  Rome.  Other  expres- 
sions of  his  natural  character  soon  followed  :  he  sus- 
pected strongly  that  Albinus  had  been  favored  by  the 
senate  ;  forty  of  that  body,  with  their  wives  and  chil- 
dren, were  immediately  sacrificed  to  his  wrath  :  but 
he  never  forgave  the  rest,  nor  endured  to  live  upon 
terms  of  amity  amongst  them.  Quitting  Rome  in  dis- 
gust, he  employed  himself  first  in  making  war  upon  the 
Parthians,  who  had  naturally,  from  situation,  befriended 
his  Syrian  rival.  Their  capital  cities  he  overthrew  ; 
and  afterwards,  by  way  of  employing  his  armies,  made 
war  in  Britain.  At  the  city  of  York  he  died  ;  and  to 
his  two  sons,  Geta  and  Caracalla,  he  bequeathed,  as 
his  dying  advice,  a  maxim  of  policy,  which  sufficiently 
indicates  the  situation  of  the  empire  at  that  period ;  it 
was  this  — '  To  enrich  the  soldiery  at  any  price,  and 
to  regard  the  rest  of  their  subjects  as  so  many  ciphers.' 
But,  as  a  critical  historian  remarks,  this  was  a  short- 
sighted and  self-destroying  policy  ;  since  in  no  way  ia 
the  subsistence  of  the  soldier  made  more  insecure, 
than  by  diminishing  the  general  security  of  rights  ana 
oroperty  to   those  who  are  not  soldiers,  from  whom 


THE    CJESAHS.  203 

after  all,  the  funds  must  be  sought,  by  which  the 
goldier  himself  is  to  be  paid  and  nourished.  The 
Avo  sons  of  Se»"irus,  whose  bitter  enmity  is  so  memo- 
rably put  on  record  by  their  actions,  travelled  simul- 
taneously to  Rome ;  but  so  mistrustful  of  each  other, 
that  at  every  stage  the  two  princes  took  up  theii 
quai-ters  at  different  houses.  Geta  has  obtained  the 
Bympathy  of  historians,  because  he  happened  to  be 
the  victim ;  but  there  is  reason  to  think,  that  each  of 
the  brothers  was  conspiring  against  the  other.  The 
weak  credulity,  rather  than  the  conscious  innocence, 
of  Geta,  led  to  the  catastrophe  ;  he  presented  himself 
at  a  meeting  with  his  brother  in  the  presence  of  their 
common  mother,  and  was  murdered  by  Caracalla  in 
his  mother's  arms.  He  was,  however,  avenged ;  the 
horrors  of  that  tragedy,  and  remorse  for  the  twenty 
thousand  murders  which  had  followed,  never  forsool' 
the  guilty  Caracalla.  Quitting  Rome,  but  pursued  into 
every  region  by  the  bloody  image  of  his  brother,  the 
emperor  henceforward  led  a  wandering  life  at  the 
head  of  his  legions  ;  but  never  was  there  a  better  illus- 
tration of  the  poet's  maxim  that 

♦  Remorse  is  as  the  mind  in  which  it  grows  : 
If  that  be  gentle,'  &c. 

For  the  remorse  of  Caracalla  put  on  no  shape  of 
repentance.  Ou  the  contrary,  he  carried  anger  and 
oppression  wherever  he  moved  ;  R.nd  protected  him- 
self from  plots  only  by  living  in  ;he  very  centre   of  a 


204  THE    CJESARS. 

nomadic  camp.  Six  years  had  passed  away  in  this 
manner,  when  a  mere  accident  led  to  his  assassination. 
For  the  sake  of  security,  the  office  of  praetorian  prefect 
had  been  divided  between  two  commissioners,  one  foi 
military  affairs,  the  other  for  civil.  The  latter  of  these 
two  officers  was  Opilius  Macrinus.  This  man  has,  by 
Bome  historians,  been  supposed  to  have  harbored  no 
bad  intentions  ;  but,  unfortunately,  an  astrologer  had 
foretold  that  he  was  destined  to  the  throne.  The 
prophet  was  laid  in  irons  at  Rome,  and  letters  were 
dispatched  to  Caracalla,  apprising  him  of  the  case. 
These  letters,  as  yet  unopened,  were  transferred  by 
the  emperor,  then  occupied  in  witnessing  a  race,  to 
Macrinus,  who  thus  became  acquainted  with  the  whole 
grounds  of  suspicion  against  himself,  —  grounds  which, 
to  the  jealousy  of  the  emperor,  he  well  knew  would 
appear  substantial  proofs.  Upon  this  he  resolved  to 
anticipate  the  emperor  in  the  work  of  murder.  The 
head-quarters  were  then  at  Edessa ;  and  upon  his 
instigation,  a  disappointed  centurion,  named  Martialis, 
animated  also  by  revenge  for  the  death  of  his  brother, 
undertook  to  assassinate  Caracalla.  An  opportunity 
soon  offered,  on  a  visit  which  the  prince  made  to  the 
celebrated  temple  of  the  moon  at  Carrhae.  The  attempt 
was  successful :  the  emperor  perished  ;  but  Martialis 
paid  the  penalty  of  his  crime  in  the  same  hcnr,  being 
«hot  by  a  Scythian  archer  of  the  boay-guard. 

Macrinus,     after    three    days'    interregnum,     beirj 


THE     CJESABS.  205 

riected  emperor,  began  his  reign  by  purchasing  a 
peace  from  the  Parthians  What  the  empire  chiefly 
needed  at  this  moment,  is  evident  from  the  next  step 
taken  by  this  emperor.  He  labored  to  restore  the 
ancient  discipline  of  the  armies  in  all  its  rigor.  He 
was  aware  of  tlie  risk  he  ran  in  this  attempt ;  and  that 
he  was  so,  is  the  best  evidence  of  the  strong  necessity 
Jvhich  existed  for  reform.  Perhaps,  however,  he  might 
have  surmounted  his  difficulties  and  dangers,  had  he 
met  with  no  competitor  round  whose  person  the  military 
malcontents  could  rally.  But  such  a  competitor  soon 
arose  ;  and,  to  the  astonishment  of  all  the  world,  in  the 
person  of  a  Syrian.  The  Emperor  Severus,  on  losing 
his  first  wife,  had  resolved  to  strengthen  the  pretensions 
of  his  family  by  a  second  marriage  with  some  lady 
having  a  regal  '  genesis,'  that  is,  whose  horoscope 
promised  a  regal  destiny.  Julia  Donina,  a  native  of 
Syria,  offered  him  this  dowry,  and  she  became  the 
mother  of  Geta.  A  sister  of  this  Julia,  called  Mcesa, 
had,  through  two  different  daughters,  two  grandsons  — 
Heliogabalus  and  Alexander  Severus.  The  mutineers 
of  the  army  rallied  around  the  first  of  these ;  a  battle 
was  fought ;  and  Macrinus,  with  his  son  Diadumeni- 
anus,  whom  he  had  adopted  to  the  succession,  were 
captured  and  put  to  death.  Heliogabalus  succeeded, 
and  reigned  in  the  monstro  "s  manner  which  has  ren- 
dered his  name  infamous  in  history.  In  what  way, 
lowever,  he  lost  the  affections  of  the  army,  has  nevei 


206  THE    C£SABS. 

been  explained.  His  motiier.  Socpmias,  the  eldest 
daughter  of  Mcesa,  had  represented  herself  as  the 
concubine  of  Caracalla ;  and  Heliogabalus,  being  thus 
accredited  as  the  son  of  that  emperor,  whose  memory 
•vas  dear  to  the  soldiery,  had  enjoyed  the  full  benefit 
<>f  that  descent,  nor  can  it  be  readily  explained  how  he 
came  to  lose  it. 

Here,  in  fact,  we  meet  with  an  instance  of  that 
dilemma  which  is  so  constantly  occurring  in  the  history 
of  the  Caesars.  If  a  prince  is  by  temperament  dis- 
posed to  severity  of  manners,  and  naturally  seeks  to 
impress  his  own  spirit  upon  the  composition  and  disci- 
pline of  the  army,  we  are  sure  to  find  that  he  was  cut 
ofi"  in  his  attempts  by  private  assassination  or  by  public 
rebellion.  On  the  other  hand,  if  he  wallows  in  sen- 
suality, and  is  careless  about  all  discipline,  civil  or 
military,  we  then  find  as  commonly  that  he  loses  the 
esteem  and  aS'ections  of  the  army  to  some  rival  of 
severer  habits.  And  in  the  midst  of  such  oscillations 
and  with  examples  of  such  contradictory  interpretation 
we  cannot  wonder  that  the  Roman  princes  did  no 
)ftener  take  warning  by  the  misfortunes  of  their  pre 
decessors.  In  the  present  instance,  Alexander,  the 
cousin  of  Heliogabalus,  without  intrigues  of  his  own, 
and  simply  (as  it  appears)  by  the  purity  and  sobriety 
of  hla  3onduct,  had  alienated  the  afiections  of  the  army 
from  the  reigning  prince.  Either  jealousy  or  prudence 
Had  led  Heliogabalus   to  make   an   attempt  upon  hiz 


THE    C-E8AKS.  207 

rival's  life  ,  and  this  attempt  had  nearly  cost  him  hig 
Dwu  through  the  mutiny  which  it  caused.  In  a  second 
aproai',  produced  by  some  fresh  intrigues  of  the  em- 
peror against  his  cousin,  the  soldiers  became  unman- 
ageable, and  they  refused  to  pause  until  they  had 
massacred  Heliogabalus,  together  with  his  mother,  and 
raised  his  cousin  Alexander  to  the  throne. 

The  reforms  of  this  prince,  who  reigned  under  the 
name  of  Alexander  Severus,  were  extensive  and  search- 
ing ;  not  only  in  his  court,  which  he  purged  of  all 
notorious  abuses,  but  throughout  the  economy  of  the 
army.  He  cashiered,  upon  one  occasion,  an  entiie 
legion ;  he  restored,  as  far  as  he  was  able,  the  ancient 
discipline ;  and,  above  all,  he  liberated  the  provinces 
from  military  spoliation.  'Let  the  soldier,'  said  he, 
'  be  contented  with  his  pay ;  and  whatever  more  he 
wants,  let  him  obtain  it  by  \'ictory  from  the  enemy, 
not  by  pillage  from  his  fellow-subject.'  But  whatever 
might  be  the  value  or  extent  of  his  reforms  in  the 
marching  regiments,  Alexander  could  not  succeed  in 
binding  the  praetorian  guards  to  his  yoke.  Under  the 
guardianship  of  his  mother  Mammaea,  the  conduct  of 
Btate  affair'  yad  been  submitted  to  a  council  of  sixteen 
persons,  at  the  head  of  which  stood  the  celebrated 
Ulpian.  To  this  minister  tbe  praetorians  imputed  the 
reforms,  and  perhaps  the  whole  spirit  of  reform;  for 
Aey  pursued  him  with  a  vengeance  which  is  else  hardly 
«o  be  explained.     Many  days  was  Ulpian  protected  by 


iOB  THE    0-ESAItS. 

the  citizens  of  Rome,  until  the  whole  city  was  threat- 
ened with  conflagration ;  he  then  fled  to  the  palace  of 
I  he  young  emperor,  who  in  vain  attempted  to  save  him 
ficm  his  pursuers  under  the  shelter  of  the  imperial 
purple.  Ulpian  was  murdered  before  his  eyes ;  nor 
was  it  found  possible  to  punish  the  ringleader  in  this 
foul  conspiracy,  until  he  had  been  removed  by  some- 
thing like  treachery  to  a  remote  government. 

Meantime,  a  great  revolution  and  change  of  dynasty 
had  been  effected  in  Parthia;  the  line  of  the  Arsacidap 
was  terminated ;  the  Parthian  empire  was  at  an  end ; 
and  the  sceptre  of  Persia  was  restored  under  the  new 
race  of  the  Sassanides.  Artaxerxes,  the  first  prince 
of  this  race,  sent  an  embassy  of  four  hundred  select 
knights,  enjoining  the  Roman  emperor  to  content  him- 
self with  Europe,  and  to  leave  Asia  to  the  Persians. 
In  the  event  of  a  refusal,  the  ambassadors  were  in- 
structed to  offer  a  defiance  to  the  Roman  prince.  Upon 
such  an  insult,  Alexander  could  not  do  less,  with  either 
safety  or  dignity,  than  to  prepare  for  war.  It  is  prob- 
able, indeed,  that,  by  this  expedition,  which  drew  off 
the  mmds  of  the  soldiery  from  brooding  upon  the  re- 
forms which  offended  them,  the  life  of  Alexander  was 
prolonged.  But  the  expedition  itself  was  mismanaged, 
or  was  unfortunate.  This  result,  however,  does  not 
Beem  chargeable  upon  Alexander.  All  the  preparations 
were  admirable  on  the  mai'ch,  and  up  to  the  enemy'i 
frontier.     The  invasion  it  was,  which,  in  a  strategic 


THE    CJESAfiS.  209 

sense,  seems  to  have  been  ill  combined.  Three  armies 
were  to  have  entered  Persia  simultaneously  :  one  of 
these,  which  was  destined  to  act  on  a  flank  of  the 
general  line,  entangled  itself  in  the  marshy  grounds 
near  Babylon,  and  was  cut  off  by  the  archery  of  an 
enemy  whom  it  could  not  reach.  The  other  wing, 
acting  upon  ground  impracticable  for  the  manoeuvres 
of  the  Persisin  cavalry,  and  supported  by  Chosroes  the 
king  of  Armenia,  gave  great  trouble  to  Artaxerxes, 
and,  with  adequate  support  from  the  other  armies, 
would  doubtless  have  been  victorious.  But  the  central 
army,  under  the  conduct  of  Alexander  in  person, 
discouraged  by  the  destruction  of  one  entire  wing, 
remained  stationary  in  Mesopotamia  throughout  the 
summer,  and,  at  the  close  of  the  campaign,  was  ^vith- 
drawn  to  Antioch,  re  infectd.  It  has  been  observed 
that  great  mystery  hangs  over  the  operations  and  issue 
of  this  short  war.  Thus  much,  however,  is  evident, 
that  nothing  but  the  previous  exhaustion  of  the  Persian 
king  saved  the  Roman  armies  from  signal  discomfiture  ; 
and  even  thus  there  is  no  ground  for  claiming  a  vic- 
tory (as  most  historians  do)  to  the  Roman  arms.  Any 
termination  of  the  Persian  war,  however,  whether 
glorious  or  not,  was  likely  to  be  personally  injurious 
to  Alexander,  by  allowing  leisure  to  the  soldiery  foi 
recurring  to  their  grievances.  Sensible,  no  doubt,  of 
this,  Alexander  was  gratified  by  the  occasion  which 
4ien  arose  for  repressing  the  hostile  movements  of  the 
14 


810  THE    CJESARS. 

Germdns.  He  led  his  army  off  upon  this  expeditioii ; 
but  tlieii-  temper  was  gloomy  and  threatening  ;  and  at 
length,  after  reaching  the  seat  of  war,  at  Mentz,  an 
open  mutiny  broke  out  under  the  guidance  of  Maximin, 
which  terminated  in  the  murder  of  the  emperor  and 
his  mother.  By  Herodian  the  discontents  of  the  anny 
are  referred  to  the  ill  management  of  the  Persian 
campaign,  and  the  unpromising  commencement  of  the 
new  war  in  Germany.  But  it  seems  probable  that  a 
dissolute  and  wicked  army,  like  that  of  Alexander,  had 
not  murmured  under  the  too  little,  but  the  too  much 
of  military  service ;  not  the  buying  a  truce  with  gold 
seems  to  have  offended  them,  but  the  having  led  them 
at  all  upon  an  enterprise  of  danger  and  hardship. 

Maximin  succeeded,  whose  feats  of  strength,  when 
he  first  courted  the  notice  of  the  Emperor  Severus, 
have  been  described  by  Gibbon.  He  was  at  that 
period  a  Thracian  peasant;  since  then  he  had  risen 
gradually  to  high  offices ;  but,  according  to  historians, 
he  retained  his  Thracian  brutality  to  the  last.  That 
may  have  been  true ;  but  one  remark  must  be  made 
upon  this  occasion ;  Maximin  was  especially  opposed 
to  the  senate ;  and,  wherever  that  was  the  case,  no 
justice  was  done  to  an  emperor.  Why  it  was  that 
Maximin  would  not  ask  for  the  confirmation  of  his 
election  from  the  senate,  has  never  been  explained  ;  it 
U  said  that  he  anticipated  a  rejection.  But,  on  the 
ather  ha  ad,  it  seems  probable  that  the  senate  suppo3  3d 


THE    CJESABS.  211 

its  sanction  to  be  despised.  Nothing,  appai'ently,  but 
this  reciprocal  reserve  in  making  approaches  to  each 
other,  was  the  cause  of  all  the  bloodshed  which  fol- 
lowed. The  two  Gordians,  who  commanded  in  Africa, 
were  set  up  by  the  senate  against  the  new  emperor  t 
and  the  consternation  of  that  body  must  have  been 
great,  when  these  champions  were  immediately  over- 
thrown and  killed.  They  did  not,  however,  despair : 
substituting  the  two  governors  of  Rome,  Pupienus  and 
Balbinus,  and  associating  to  them  the  younger  Gor- 
dian,  they  resolved  to  make  a  stand ;  for  the  severities 
of  Maximin  had  by  this  time  manifested  that  it  was  a 
contest  of  extermination.  Meantime,  Maximin  had 
broken  up  from  Sirmium,  the  capital  of  Pannonia,  and 
had  advanced  to  Aquileia,  —  that  famous  fortress, 
which  in  every  invasion  of  Italy  was  the  first  object  of 
attack.  The  senate  had  set  a  price  upon  his  head ; 
but  there  was  every  probability  that  he  would  have 
trivmiphed,  had  he  not  disgusted  his  army  by  immod- 
erate severities.  It  was,  however,  but  reasonable  that 
ihose,  who  would  not  support  the  strict  but  equitable 
discipline  of  the  mild  Alexander,  should  suffer  under 
the  barbarous  and  capricious  rigor  of  Maximin.  That 
rigor  was  his  ruin :  sunk  and  degraded  as  the  senate 
was,  and  now  but  the  shadow  of  a  mighty  name,  it 
was  found  on  this  occasion  to  have  long  arms  when 
lupported  oy  the  frenzy  of  its  opponent.  Whatevei 
Blight   be   the    real   weakness    if  this  body,  the  rude 


212  THE    C£SAB8. 

Boldiers  yet  felt  a  blind  traditionary  veneration  for  itt 
sanction,  when  prompting  tkem  as  patriots  to  an  act 
which  their  own  multiplied  provocations  had  but  too 
much  recommended  to  their  passions.  A  party  entered 
the  tent  of  Masimin,  and  dispatched  him  with  tjie  same 
unpitying  haste  which  he  had  shown  under  similar 
circumstances  to  the  gentle-minded  Alexander.  Aqui- 
leia  opened  her  gates  immediately,  and  thus  made  it 
evident  that  the  war  had  been  personal  to  Maximin. 

A  scene  followed  \vithin  a  short  time  which  is  in 
the  highest  degree  interesting.  The  senate,  in  creating 
two  emperors  at  once  (for  the  boy  Gordian  was  prob- 
ably associated  to  them  only  by  way  of  masking  their 
experiment),  had  made  it  evident  that  their  purpose 
was  to  restore  the  republic  and  its  two  consuls.  This 
was  their  meaning ;  and  the  experiment  had  now  been 
twice  repeated.  The  army  saw  through  it ;  as  to  the 
double  number  of  emperors,  that  was  of  little  conse- 
quence, farther  than  as  it  expressed  their  intention,  viz. 
by  bringing  back  the  consular  government,  to  restore 
the  power  of  the  senate,  and  to  abrogate  that  of  the 
army.  The  praetorian  troops,  who  were  the  most 
deeply  interested  in  preventing  this  revolution,  watched 
their  opportunity,  and  attacked  the  two  emperors  in 
Ihe  palace.  The  deadly  feud,  which  had  already 
urisen  between  them,  led  each  to  suppose  himself  under 
ftssault  from  the  other.  The  mistake  was  not  of  long 
duration      Carried  into  the  streets  of  Rome,  they  were 


THE    C^SAKS.  218 

Doth  put  to  death,  and  treated  with  monstrous  indigni- 
ties. The  young  Gordian  was  adopted  by  the  soldiery. 
It  seems  odd  that  even  thus  far  the  guards  should 
lanction  the  choice  of  the  senate,  having  the  purposes 
which  they  had  ;  but  perhaps  Gordian  Lad  recom- 
mended himself  to  their  favor  in  a  degree  which  might 
outweigh  what  they  considered  the  original  vice  of  hia 
appointment,  and  his  youth  promised  them  an  imme- 
diate impunity.  This  prince,  however,  like  so  many 
of  his  predecessors  soon  came  to  an  unhappy  end. 
Under  the  guardianship  of  the  upright  Misitheus,  for 
a  time  he  prospered  ;  and  preparations  were  made 
upon  a  great  scale  for  the  energetic  administration  of 
a  Persian  war.  But  Misitheus  died,  perhaps  by  poison, 
in  the  course  of  the  campaign  ;  and  to  him  succeeded, 
as  praetorian  prefect,  an  Arabian  oiRcer,  called  Philip. 
The  innocent  boy,  left  without  friends,  was  soon  re- 
moved by  murder  ;  and  a  monument  was  afterwards 
erected  to  his  memory,  at  the  junction  of  the  Aboras 
and  the  Euphrates.  Great  obscurity,  however,  clouds 
this  part  of  history  ;  nor  is  it  so  much  as  known  in 
what  way  the  Persian  war  was  conducted  or  termi- 
nated. 

Philip,  having  made  himself  emperor,  celebrated, 
upon  his  arrival  in  Rome,  the  secular  games,  in  the 
year  247  of  the  Christian  era  —  that  being  the  comple« 
tion  of  a  thousand  years'^''  from  the  foundation  of  Rome. 
Pvt  Nemesis  was  already  on  his  steps.     An  insurreo* 


214  THB    C^SAKH. 

tion  Had  broken  out  amongst  the  legions  stationed  in 
Moesia  ;  and  they  had  raised  to  the  purple  some  oflBcei 
of  low  rank.  Philip,  having  occasion  to  notice  thia 
atFair  in  the  senate,  received  for  answer  from  Dectus, 
hat  probably,  the  pseudo-imperator  would  prove  a 
mere  evanescent  phantom.  This  conjecture  was  con- 
firmed ;  and  Philip  in  consequence  conceived  a  high 
opinion  of  Decius,  whom  (as  the  insurrection  still  con- 
tinued) he  judged  to  be  the  fittest  man  for  appeasing 
it.  Decius  accordingly  went,  armed  with  the  proper 
authority.  But  on  his  arrival,  he  found  himself 
compelled  by  the  insurgent  army  to  choose  between 
empire  and  death.  Thus  constrained,  he  yielded  to 
the  wishes  of  the  troops  ;  and  then  hastening  with  a 
vereran  army  into  Italy,  he  fought  the  battle  of 
Verona,  where  Philip  was  defeated  and  killed,  whilst 
the  son  of  Philip  was  murdered  at  Rome  by  the  praeto- 
rian guards. 

With  Philip,  ends,  according  to  our  distribution, 
the  second  series  of  the  Caesars,  comprehending 
Commodus,  Pertinax,  Didius  Julianus,  Septimius, 
Beverus,  Caracalla  and  Geta,  Macrinus,  Heliogabalus, 
Alexander  Severus,  Maximin,  the  two  Gordians, 
Pupienus  and  Balbinus,  the  third  Gordian,  and  Philip 
the  Arab. 

In  looking  back  at  this  series  of  Caesars,  we  ar» 
borror-struck  at  the  blood-stained  picture.  Well  might 
a  foreign  writer,  in   reviewing   the    same    succession. 


THE    CA8AB8.  21  fi 

declare,  that  it  is  like  passing  into  a  new  world  when 
the  transition  is  made  from  this  chapter  of  the  human 
history  to  that  of  modern  Europe.  From  Commodus 
to  Decius  are  sixteen  names,  which,  spread  through 
a  space  of  fifty-nine  years,  assign  to  each  Caesar  a 
reign  of  less  than  four  years.  And  Casaubon  remarks, 
that,  in  one  period  of  160  years,  there  were  seventy 
persons  who  assumed  the  Roman  purple ;  which  gives 
to  each  not  much  more  than  two  years.  On  the  other 
hand,  in  the  history  of  France,  we  find  that,  through 
a  period  of  1200  years,  there  have  been  no  more  than 
sixty-four  kings:  upon  an  average,  therefore,  each 
king  appears  to  have  enjoyed  a  reign  of  nearly  nine- 
teen years.  This  vast  difierence  in  security  is  due  to 
two  great  principles,  —  that  of  primogeniture  as  be- 
tween son  and  son,  and  of  hereditary  succession  as 
between  a  son  and  every  other  pretender.  Well  may 
we  hail  the  principle  of  hereditary  right  as  realizing 
the  praise  of  Burke  applied  to  chivalry,  viz.,  that  it  is 
'  the  cheap  defence  of  nations ;  '  for  the  security  which 
is  thus  obtained,  be  it  recollected,  does  not  regard  a 
a  small  succession  of  princes,  but  the  whole  rights  and 
interests  of  social  man  :  since  the  contests  for  the 
rights  of  belligerent  rivals  do  not  respect  themselves 
cnly,  but  very  often  spread  ruin  and  proscription 
nmongst  all  orders  of  men.  The  principle  of  hered- 
tary  succession,  says  one  writer,  had  it  beea  a  dis- 
jovery   of  any   one   individual,  would   deserve  to  be 


216  THE    C^SAKS. 

considered  as  the  very  greatest  ever  made;  a  ad  he 
adds  acutely,  in  answer  to  the  obvious,  but  shallow 
objection  to  it  (viz.,  its  apparent  assumption  of  equal 
ability  for  reigning  in  father  and  son  for  ever),  that  it 
is  like  the  Copernican  system  of  the  heavenly  bodies, 
—  contradictory  to  our  sense  and  first  impressions,  hut 
true  notwithstanding. 


THE    C^SABS. 


217 


CHAPTER   VI. 

To  return,  however,  to  our  sketch  of  the  Cassars. 
A.t  the  head  of  the  third  series  we  place  Decius.  He 
came  to  the  throne  at  a  moment  of  great  public  embar- 
rassment. The  Goths  were  now  beginning  to  press 
southwards  upon  the  empire.  Dacia  they  had  ravaged 
for  some  time ;  '  and  here,'  says  a  German  writer, 
'  observe  the  short-sightedness  of  the  Emperor  Trajan. 
Had  he  left  the  Dacians  in  possession  of  their  indepen- 
dence, they  would,  under  their  native  kings,  have 
made  head  against  the  Goths.  But,  being  compelled 
to  assume  the  character  of  Roman  citizens,  they  had 
lost  their  warlike  qualities.'  From  Dacia  the  Goths 
had  descended  upon  Moesia  ;  and,  passing  the  Danube, 
they  laid  siege  to  Marcianopolis,  a  city  bmlt  by  Trajan 
in  honor  of  his  sister.  Tlie  inhabitants  paid  a  heavy 
ransom  for  their  town ;  and  the  Goths  were  persuaded 
for  the  present  to  return  home.  But  sooner  than  was 
expected,  they  returned  to  Moesia,  under  their  king, 
Kniva  ;  and  they  were  already  engaged  in  the  siege  of 
Nicopolis,  when  Decius  came  in  sight  at  the  head  of 
the  Roman  army.  The  Goths  retired,  but  it  was  to 
Thrace  ;  and,  in  the  conquest  of  Philippopolis,  they 
found  an  ample  indemnity  for  their  forced  retreat  and 


12 IS  THE    CJESABS. 

disappointment.  Decius  pursued,  but  the  king  of  the 
Goths  turned  suddenly  upon  him  ;  the  emperor  was 
obliged  to  fly  ;  the  Roman  camp  was  plundered  ; 
Philippopolis  was  taken  by  storm  ;  and  its  whole 
population,  reputed  at  more  than  a  hundred  thousand 
Bouls,  destroyed. 

iSuch  was  the  first  great  irruption  of  the  barbarians 
into  the  Roman  territory  :  and  panic  was  diffused  on 
the  wings  of  the  wind  over  the  whole  empire.  Decius, 
however,  was  firm,  and  made  prodigious  efforts  to 
restore  the  balance  of  power  to  its  ancient  condition. 
For  the  moment  he  had  some  partial  successes.  Hf 
cut  oS"  several  detachments  of  Goths,  on  their  road  to 
reinforce  the  enemy  ;  and  he  strengthened  the  for- 
tresses and  garrisons  of  the  Danube.  But  his  las< 
success  was  the  means  of  his  total  ruin.  He  came  up 
with  the  Goths  at  Forum  Terebronii,  and,  having  sur- 
rounded their  position,  their  destruction  seemed  inevi- 
table. A  great  battle  ensued,  and  a  mighty  victory  to 
the  Goths.  Nothing  is  now  known  of  the  circum- 
stances, except  that  the  third  line  of  the  Romans  waa 
entangled  inextricably  in  a  morass  (as  had  happened 
in  the  Persian  expedition  of  Alexander).  Decius 
perished  on  this  occasion  —  nor  was  it  possible  to  find 
bis  dead  body.  This  great  defeat  naturally  raised  the 
liuthority  of  the  senate,  in  the  same  proportion  as  it 
depressed  that  of  the  army  ;  and  by  the  will  of  that 
body,  Hostilianus,  a  son  of  Decius,  was  raised  to  th» 


THE    C.£SAKS.     >  219 

•mpire  ;  and  ostensibly  on  account  of  his  youth,  but 
really  with  a  view  to  their  standing  policy  of  restoring 
the  consulate,  and  the  whole  machinery  of  the  republic, 
Gallus,  an  experienced  commander,  was  associated  in 
the  empire.  But  no  skill  or  experience  could  avail  to 
retrieve  the  sinking  power  of  Rome  upon  the  Illyriaii 
fi  Dntier.  The  Rt>man  army  Wcis  disorganized,  panic- 
stricken,  reduced  to  skeleton  battalions.  Without  an 
aimy,  wha*  could  be  done  r  And  thus  it  may  really 
have  been  no  blame  to  Gallus,  that  he  made  a  treaty 
.vith  the  Goths  more  degrading  than  any  previous  act 
in  the  long  annals  of  Rome.  By  the  terms  of  this 
infamous  bargain,  they  were  allowed  to  carry  off  an 
immense  booty,  amongst  which  was  a  long  roll  of 
distinguished  prisoners  ;  and  Caesar  himself  it  was  — 
not  any  lieutenant  or  agent  that  might  have  been  after- 
wai"ds  disavowed  —  who  volunteered  to  purchase  their 
future  absence  by  an  annual  tribute.  The  very  army 
which  had  brought  their  emperor  into  the  necessity  of 
submitting  to  such  abject  concessions,  were  the  first  to 
be  offended  with  this  natural  result  of  their  own  failures. 
Qallus  was  already  ruined  in  public  opinion,  when  fur- 
ther accumulations  arose  to  his  disgrace.  It  was  now 
supposed  to  have  been  discovered,  that  the  late  dread- 
ful defeat  of  Forum  Terebronii  was  due  to  his  bad 
advice  ;  and,  as  the  young'  Hostilianus  happened  to  die 
»bout  this  time  of  a  contagious  disorder,  Gallus  \^al 
iharged   vnth  his  murder.     Even  a  ray  of  prosperity, 


220  '    THE    CiESABS. 

which  just  now  gleamed  upon  the  Roman  aims,  aggra- 
vated the  disgrace  of  Gallus,  and  was  instantly  made 
the  handle  of  his  ruin,  ^milianus,  the  governor  of 
Moesia  and  Pannonia,  inflicted  some  check  or  defeat 
upon  the  Goths  ;  and  in  the  enthusiasm  of  sudden 
pride,  upon  an  occasion  which  contrasted  so  advan- 
tageously for  himself  with  the  military  conduct  of 
Decius  and  Gallus,  the  soldiers  of  his  own  legion  raised 
^railianus  to  the  purple.  No  time  was  to  be  lost. 
Summoned  by  the  troops,  iEmilianus  marched  into 
Italy  ;  and  no  sooner  had  he  made  his  appearance 
there,  than  the  praetorian  guards  murdered  the  Emperor 
Gallus  and  his  son  Volusianus,  by  way  of  confirming 
the  election  of  ^milianus.  The  new  emperor  offered 
to  secure  the  frontiers,  both  in  the  east  and  on  the 
Danube,  from  the  incursions  of  the  barbarians.  This 
offer  may  be  regarded  as  thrown  out  for  the  conciliation 
of  all  classes  in  the  empire.  But  to  the  senate  in  par- 
ticular he  addressed  a  message,  which  forcibly  illus- 
trates the  political  position  of  that  body  in  those  times. 
JEmilianus  proposed  to  resign  the  whole  civil  adminis- 
tration into  the  hands  of  the  senate^  reserving  to  himself 
the  only  unenviable  burthen  of  the  military  interests. 
His  hope  was,  that  in  this  way  making  himself  in  part 
the  creation  of  the  senate,  he  might  strengthen  his  title 
against  competitors  at  Rome,  w^hiLsi  <ae  entire  military 
administration  going  on  under  his  own  eyes,  exclusively 
direct^*?  ^o  that  one  object,  would  give  him  some  chauc* 


TH£    C^SABS.  221 

ii  defeating  the  liasty  and  tumultuary  competitions  so 
fcpt  to  arise  amongst  the  legions  upon  the  frontier.  We 
notice  the  transaction  chiefly  as  indicating  the  anoma- 
lous situation  of  the  senate.  Without  power  in  a 
proper  sense,  or  no  more,  however,  than  the  indirect 
power  of  wealth,  that  ancient  body  retained  an  immense 
auctoritas  —  that  is,  an  influence  biiilt  upon  ancient 
reputation,  which,  in  their  case,  had  the  strength  of  a 
religious  superstition  in  all  Italian  minds.  This  influ- 
ence the  senators  exerted  ^vith  efiect,  whenever  the 
course  of  events  had  happened  to  reduce  the  power  of 
the  army.  And  never  did  they  make  a  more  continu- 
ous and  sustained  efibrt  for  retrieving  their  ancient 
power  and  place,  together  with  the  whole  system  of 
the  republic,  than  during  the  period  at  which  we  are 
now  arrived.  From  the  time  of  Maximin,  in  fact,  to 
the  accession  of  Aurelian,  the  senate  perpetually  inter- 
posed their  credit  and  authority,  like  some  Deus  ex 
machind  in  the  dramatic  art.  And  if  this  one  fact  were 
all  that  had  survived  of  the  public  annals  at  this  period, 
we  might  sufficiently  collect  the  situation  of  the  two 
ther  parties  in  the  empire  —  the  array  and  the  impe- 
rator ;  the  weakness  and  precarious  tenure  of  the  one, 
*nd  the  anarchy  of  the  other.  And  hence  it  is  that 
we  can  explain  the  hatred  borne  to  the  senate  by 
rigorous  emperors,  such  as  Aurelian,  succeeding  to  a 
iong  course  of  weak  and  troubled  reigns.  Such  an 
emperor   presumed  in   the    senate,   and   not  withoat 


222  THE    C^SARn. 

reason,  the  same  spirit  jf  domineering  interference  &» 
ready  to  manifest  itself,  upon  any  opportunity  oflfered, 
against  himself,  which,  in  his  earlier  days,  he  had 
witnessed  so  repeatedly  in  successful  operation  upon 
the  fates  and  prospects  of  others. 

The  situation  indeed  of  the  world  —  that  is  to  say,  of 
that  great  centre  of  civilization,  which,  running  round 
the  Mediterranean  in  one  continuous  belt  of  great 
breadth,  still  composed  the  Roman  Empire,  was  at  this 
time  most  profoundly  interesting.  The  crisis  had 
arrived.  In  the  East,  a  new  dynasty  (the  Sassanides) 
had  remoulded  ancient  elements  into  a  new  form,  and 
breathed  a  new  life  into  an  empire,  which  else  was 
gradually  becoming  crazy  of  age,  and  which,  at  any 
rate,  by  losing  its  unity,  must  have  lost  its  vigor  as  an 
offensive  power.  Parthia  was  languishing  and  droop- 
ing as  an  anti-Roman  state,  when  the  last  of  the  Arsa- 
cidae  expired.  A  perfect  Palingenesis  was  wrought 
by  the  restorer  of  the  Persian  empire,  which  pretty 
nearly  re-occupied  (and  gloried  in  re-occupying)  the 
rery  area  that  had  once  composed  the  empire  of  Cyrus. 
Even  this  Palingenesis  might  have  terminated  in  a 
divided  empire :  vigor  might  have  been  restored,  but 
in  the  shape  of  a  polyarchy  (such  as  the  Saxons  estab- 
lished in  England),  rather  than  a  monarchy ;  and  in 
reality,  at  one  moment  that  appeared  to  be  a  probabU 
event.  Now,  had  this  been  the  course  of  the  revolu 
tion,  an  alliance  with  one  of  these  kingdoms  would 


THE    C^SASS.  22S 

aav  3  tended  to  balance  the  hostility  of  another  (as  was 
in  fact  the  case  when  Alexander  Severus  saved  himself 
from  the  Persian  power  by  a  momentary  alliance  with 
Armenia).  But  all  the  elements  of  disorder  had  in 
that  quarter  re- combined  themselves  into  severe  unity : 
and  thus  was  Rome,  upon  her  eastern  frontier,  laid 
open  to  a  new  power  of  juvenile  activity  and  vigor, 
just  at  the  period  when  the  languor  of  the  decaying 
Parthian  had  allowed  the  Roman  discipline  to  fall  into 
a  corresponding  declension.  Such  was  the  condition  of 
Rome  upon  her  oriental  frontier.^  On  the  northern, 
it  was  much  worse.  Precisely  at  the  crisis  of  a  great 
revolution  in  Asia,  which  demanded  in  that  quarter 
more  than  the  total  strength  of  the  empire,  and  threat- 
:;ned  to  demand  it  for  ages  to  come,  did  the  Goths, 
under  their  earliest  denomination  of  GetcB,  with  many 
other  associate  tribes,  begin  to  push  with  their  horns 
against  the  northern  gates  of  the  empire ;  the  whola- 
line  of  the  Danube,  and,  pretty  nearly  about  the 
same  time,  of  the  Rhine,  (upon  which  the  tribes 
from  Swabia,  Bavaria,  and  Franconia,  were  beginning 
10  descend,)  now  became  insecure ;  and  these  two 
rivers  ceased  in  effect  to  be  the  barriers  of  Rome. 
Taking  a  middle  point  of  time  between  the  Parthian 
revolution  and  the  fatal  overthrow  of  Forum  Tere- 
bronii,  we  may  fix  upon  the  reign  of  Philip  the  Arab 
[who  naturalized  himself  in  Rome  by  tha  appellation 
»f  Marcus  Julius]  as  the  epoch  from  which  the  Reman 


224  THE    C^SABS. 

empire,  already  sapped  and  undermined  by  changes 
from  within,  began  to  give  way,  and  to  dilapidate  from 
without.  And  this  reign  dates  itself  in  the  series  by 
those  ever-memorable  secular  or  jubilee  games,  which 
celebrated  the  completion  of  the  thousandth  year  froni 
the  foundation  of  Rome.''^ 

Resuming  our  sketch  of  the  Imperial  history,  we 
may  remark  the  natural  embarrassment  which  must 
have  possessed  the  senate,  when  two  candidates  for 
the  purple  were  equally  earnest  in  appealing  to  tkem^ 
and  their  deliberate  choice,  as  the  best  foundation  for 
a  valid  election.  Scarcely  had  the  ground  been  cleared 
for  uiEmilianus  by  the  murder  of  Gallus  and  his  son, 
when  Valerian,  a  Roman  senator,  of  such  eminent 
merit,  and  confessedly  so  much  the  foremost  noble  in 
all  the  qualities  essential  to  the  very  delicate  and  com- 
prehensive functions  of  a  Censor,^  that  Decius  had 
revived  that  office  expressly  in  his  behalf,  entered  Italy 
at  the  head  of  the  army  from  Gaul.  He  had  been 
summoned  to  his  aid  by  the  late  emperor,  Gallus ;  but 
ai'riving  too  late  for  his  support,  he  determined  to 
avenge  him.  Both  ^milianus  and  Valerian  recognized 
the  authority  of  the  senate,  and  professed  to  act  under 
thai  sanction  ;  but  it  was  the  soldiery  who  cut  the  knot, 
as  usual,  by  the  sword,  ^milianus  was  encamped  a 
Spoleto ;  but  as  the  enemy  drew  neai",  his  soldiers, 
ghrinking  no  doubt  from  a  contest  with  veteran  trDop^ 
made  their  peace  by  -nurdering  the  new  emperor,  anti 


THE    C^SABS.  225 

Valerian  was, elected  in  his  stead.  The  prince  waa 
already  an  old  man  at  the  time  of  his  election  ;  hut  he 
lived  long  enough  to  look  hack  upon  the  day  of  his 
inauguration  as  the  hlackest  in  his  life.  Memorable 
were  the  calamities  which  fell  upon  himself,  and  upon 
the  empire,  during  his  reign.  He  began  by  associating 
to  himself  his  son  Gallienus ;  partly,  perhaps,  for  his 
own  relief,  party  to  indulge  the  senate  in  their  steady 
plan  of  dividing  the  imperial  authority.  The  two 
emperors  undertook  the  military  defence  of  the  empire, 
Gallienus  proceeding  to  the  German  frontier,  Valerian 
to  the  eastern.  Under  Gallienus,  the  Franks  began 
first  to  make  themselves  heard  of.  Breaking  into  Gaul, 
they  passed  through  that  country  and  Spain  ;  captured 
Tarragona  in  their  route ;  crossed  over  to  Africa,  and 
conquered  Mauritania.  At  the  same  time,  the  Ale- 
manni,  who  had  been  in  motion  since  the  time  of  Cara- 
calla,  broke  into  Lombardy,  across  the  Rhaetian  Alps. 
The  senate,  left  without  aid  from  either  emperors,  were 
obliged  to  make  preparations  for  the  common  defence 
against  this  host  of  barbarians.  Luckily,  the  very 
magnitude  of  the  enemy's  success,  by  overloading  him 
with  booty,  made  it  his  interest  to  retire  without  fight- 
ing ;  and  the  degraded  senate,  hanging  upon  the  traces 
of  their  retiring  footsteps,  without  fighting,  or  daring 
to  fight,  claimed  the  honors  of  a  victory.  Even  then, 
however,  they  did  more  than  was  agreeable  to  the 
'ealousies  of  Gallienus,  who,   by    an    edict,   publicly 


326  THE    CiESAKS. 

rebuked  their  presumption,  and  forbade  them  in  future 
to  appear  amongst  the  legions,  or  to  exercise  anj 
military  functions.  He  himself,  meanwhile,  could 
devise  no  better  way  of  providing  for  the  public  se- 
curity, than  by  mai'rying  the  daughter  of  his  chief 
enemy,  the  king  of  tie  Marcomanni.  On  this  side  of 
Europe,  the  barbarians  were  thus  quieted  for  the  pres- 
ent ;  but  the  Goths  of  the  Ukraine,  in  three  marauding 
expeditions  of  unprecedented  violence,  ravaged  the 
wealthy  regions  of  Asia  Minor,  as  well  as  the  islands 
of  the  Archipelago  :  and  at  length,  under  the  guidance 
of  deserters,  landed  in  the  port  of  the  Pyraeus.  Ad- 
vancing from  this  point,  after  sacking  Athens  and  the 
chief  cities  of  Greece,  they  marched  upon  Epirus,  and 
began  to  threaten  Italy.  But  the  defection  at  this  crisis 
of  a  conspicuous  chieftain,  and  the  burden  of  their 
booty,  made  these  wild  marauders  anxious  to  provide 
for  a  safe  retreat ;  the  imperial  commanders  in  Moesia 
.  listened  eagerly  to  their  offers  :  and  it  set  the  seal  to 
the  dishonors  of  the  State,  that,  after  having  traversed 
BO  vast  a  range  of  territory  almost  without  resistance, 
these  blood-stained  brigands  were  now  suffered  to  re- 
tire under  the  very  guardianship  of  those  whom  they 
had  just  visited  with  military  execution. 

Such  were  the  terms  upon  which  the  Emperor 
GJallienus  purchased  a  brief  respite  from  his  haughty 
enemies.  For  the  moment,  however,  he  did  enjoy 
lecurity      Far  otherwise  was  the  destiny  of  his  un- 


THE    C^SABS.  227 

nappy  father.  Sapor  now  ruled  in  Persia  ;  the  throne 
of  Armenia  had  vainly  striven  to  maintain  its  inde* 
pendency  against  his  armies,  and  the  daggers  of  his 
hired  assassins.  This  revolution,  which  so  much  en 
feebled  the  Roman  means  of  war,  exactly  in  tha* 
proportion  increased  the  necessity  for  it.  War.  and 
that  instantly,  seemed  to  offer  the  only  chance  ^r 
maintaining  the  Roman  name  or  existence  in  Asia. 
Carrhae  and  Nisibis,  the  two  potent  fortresses  in  Meso- 
potamia, had  fallen  ;  and  the  Persian  arms  were  now 
triumphant  on  both  banks  of  the  Euphrates.  Valerian 
was  not  of  a  character  to  look  with  indifference  upon 
such  a  scene,  terminated  by  such  a  prospect ;  prudence 
and  temerity,  fear  and  confidence,  all  spoke  a  common 
language  in  this  great  emergency  ;  and  Valerian 
marched  towards  the  Euphrates  with  a  fixed  purpose 
of  driving  the  enemy  beyond  that  river.  By  whose 
mismanagement  the  records  of  history  do  not  enable 
us  to  say,  some  think  of  Macrianus,  the  praetorian 
prefect,  some  of  Valerian  himself,  but  doubtless  by  the 
treachery  of  guides  co-operating  with  errors  in  the 
general,  the  Roman  army  was  entangled  in  marshy 
grounds  ;  partial  actions  followed  and  skirmishes  of 
cavalry,  in  which  the  Romans  became  direfully  aware 
of  their  situation  ;  retreat  was  cut  off,  to  advance  was 
impossible  ;  and  to  fight  was  now  found  to  be  without 
lope.  In  these  circumstances,  they  offered  to  capitvv 
Ute      But  the  haughtv  Sapor  would  hear  of  nothing 


&2S  THE    C.£8AB8. 

but  nnconditional  surrender ;  and  to  that  course  th« 
unhappy  emperor  submitted.  Various  traditions  ^ 
have  been  preserved  by  history  concerning  the  fate  of 
Valerian ;  all  agree  that  he  died  in  misery  and  captiv- 
ity ;  but  some  have  circumstantiated  this  general  state- 
ment by  features  of  excessive  misery  and  degradation, 
which  possibly  were  added  afterwards  by  scenical  ro- 
mancers, in  order  to  heighten  the  interest  of  the  tale,  or 
by  ethical  writers,  in  order  to  point  and  strengthen  the 
moral.  Gallienus  now  ruled  alone,  except  as  regarded 
the  restless  efforts  of  insurgents,  thirty  of  whom  are 
said  to  have  arisen  in  his  single  reign.  This,  however 
is  probably  an  exaggeration.  Nineteen  such  rebels 
are  mentioned  by  name :  of  whom  the  chief  were  Cal- 
purnius  Piso,  a  Roman  senator ;  Tetricus,  a  man  of 
rank  who  claimed  a  descent  from  Pompey,  Crassus, 
and  even  from  Numa  Pompilius,  and  maintained  him- 
self some  time  in  Gaul  and  Spain  ;  Trebellianus,  who 
founded  a  republic  of  robbers  in  Isauria  which  survived 
himself  by  centuries  ;  and  Odenathus,  the  Syrian. 
Others  were  mere  Terrm  Jilii,  or  adventurers,  who 
flourished  and  decayed  in  a  few  days  or  weeks,  of 
whom  the  most  remarkable  was  a  working  armorer 
named  Marius.  Not  one  of  the  whole  number  event- 
ually prospered,  except  Odenathus  ;  and  he,  though 
originally  a  rebel,  yet,  in  consideration  of  services 
performed  against  Persia,  was  suffered  to  retain  his 
power,  and  to  transmit  his  kingdom  of  Palmyra**  to  h« 


THE    C^SABS.  229 

widow  Zenobia.     He  was  even  complimented  with  the 

title  of  Augustus.  All  the  rest  perished.  Their  rise, 
however,  and  local  prosperity  at  so  many  different 
points  of  the  empire,  showed  the  distracted  condition 
of  the  State,  and  its  internal  weakness.  That  again 
proclaimed  its  external  peril.  No  other  cause  had 
called  forth  this  diffusive  spirit  of  insun-ection  than 
the  general  consciousness,  so  fatally  warranted,  of  the 
debility  which  had  emasculated  the  government,  and 
its  incompetency  to  deal  vigorously  with  the  public 
enemies.*^  The  very  granaries  of  Rome,  Sicily  and 
Egypt,  were  the  seats  of  continued  distractions ;  in. 
Alexandria,  the  second  city  of  the  empire,  there  was 
even  a  civil  war  which  lasted  for  twelve  years.  Weak- 
ness, dissension  and  misery,  wer6  spread  like  a  cloud 
over  the  whole  face  of  the  empire. 

The  last  of  the  rebels  who  directed  his  rebellion 
personally  against  Gallienus  was  Aureolus.  Passing 
the  Rhaetian  Alps,  this  leader  sought  out  and  defied  the 
emperor.  He  was  defeated,  and  retreated  upon  Milan  ; 
but  Gallienus,  in  pursuing  him,  was  lured  into  an  am- 
buscade, and  perished  from  the  wound  inflicted  by  an 
archer.  With  his  dying  breath  he  is  said  to  have 
recommended  Claudius  to  the  favor  of  the  senate ;  and 
at  all  events  Claudius  it  was  who  succeeded.  Scarcely 
was  the  new  emperor  installed,  before  he  was  sum- 
moned to  a  trial  not  only  arduous  in  itself,  but  terrific 
by  the   very  name   of  tne   enemy.     The  Goths  of  the 


230  THE    C^SA.RS. 

Ukraine,  in  a  new  armament  of  six  thousand  vessels, 
had  again  descended  by  the  Bosphorus  into  the  south, 
and  had  sat  down  before  Thessalonica,  the  capital  of 
Macedonia.  Claudius  marched  against  them  with  the 
determination  to  vindicate  the  Roman  name  and  honor : 
'  KnoK?/  said  he,  writing  to  the  senate,  '  that  320,000 
Goths  have  set  foot  upon  the  Roman  soil.  Should  I 
conquer  them,  your  gratitude  will  be  my  reward. 
Should  I  fall,  do  not  forget  who  it  is  that  I  have  suc- 
ceeded ;  and  that  the  republic  is  exhausted.'  No  sooner 
did  the  Goths  hear  of  his  approach,  than,  with  trans- 
ports of  ferocious  joy,  they  gave  up  the  siege,  and 
hurried  to  annihilate  the  last  pillar  of  the  empire.  The 
mighty  battle  which  ensued,  neither  party  seeking  to 
evade  it,  took  place  at  Naissus.  At  one  time  the 
legions  were  giving  way,  when  suddenly,  by  some 
happy  manoeuvre  of  the  emperor,  a  Roman  corps  found 
its  way  to  the  rear  of  the  enemy.  The  Goths  gave 
way,  and  their  defeat  was  total.  According  to  most 
accounts  they  left  50,000  dead  upon  the  field.  The 
campaign  still  lingered,  however,  at  other  points,  until 
at  last  the  emperor  succeeded  in  driving  back  the  relics 
of  the  Gothic  host  into  the  fastnesses  of  the  Balkan  ;  ™ 
and  there  the  greater  part  of  them  died  of  hunger  and 
•estilence.  These  great  services  performed,  within 
two  years  from  his  accession  to  the  throne,  by  the 
rarest  of  fates,  the  Emperor  Claudius  die.l  in  his  becj 
K*.   Sirmium,   the    capital    of   Panuonia.     His   brother 


THE    C^SABS.  231 

ftuiutilius,  who  had  a  great  command  at  Aquileia,  im- 
mediately resumed  the  purple  ;  but  his  usurpation  lasted 
only  seventeen  days,  for  the  last  emperor,  with  a  single 
eye  to  the  public  good,  had  recommended  Aurelian  as 
his  successor,  guided  by  his  personal  knowledge  of  that 
general's  strategic  qualities.  The  army  of  the  Danube 
confirmed  the  appointment ;  and  Quintilius  committed 
Buicide.  Aurelian  was  of  the  same  harsh  and  forbid- 
ding character  as  the  Emperor  Severus  :  he  had,  hove- 
ever,  the  qualities  demanded  by  the  times ;  energetic 
and  not  amiable  princes  were  required  by  the  exi- 
gencies of  the  state.  The  hydra-headed  Goths  were 
again  in  the  field  on  the  Ulyrian  quarter  :  Italy  itself 
was  invaded  by  the  Alemanni ;  and  Tetricus,  the  rebel, 
BtUl  survived  as  a  monument  of  the  weakness  of  Gal- 
lienus.  All  these  enemies  were  speedily  repressed, 
or  vanquished,  by  Aurelian,  But  it  marks  the  real 
declension  of  the  empire,  a  declension  which  no  per- 
sonal vigor  in  the  emperor  was  now  sufficient  to  dis- 
(^fuise,  that,  even  in  the  midst  of  victory,  Aurelian 
found  it  necessary  to  make  a  formal  surrender,  by 
treaty,  of  that  Dacia  which  Trajan  had  united  with  so 
much  ostentation  to  the  empire.  Europe  was  now 
again  in  repose  ;  and  Aurelian  found  himself  at  liberty 
to  apply  his  powers  as  a  re-organizer  and  restorer  to 
the  East.  In  that  quarter  of  the  world  a  marvellous 
revolution  had  occurred.  The  little  oasis  of  Palmyra, 
from    a    Romau   colony,    nad   grown   into  the  leading 


S32  THE    C-SSAKS. 

province  of  a  great  empire.  This  island  of  the  desert^ 
together  with  Syria  and  Egypt,  formed  an  independent 
mojiarchy  under  the  sceptre  of  Zenobia.^  After  two 
battles  lost  in  Syria,  Zenobia  retreated  to  Palmyra. 
With  great  difficulty  '^  Aurelian  pursued  her ;  and  with 
Btill  greater  difficulty  he  pressed  the  siege  of  Palmyra. 
Zenobia  looked  for  relief  from  Persia;  but  at  that 
moment  Sapor  died,  and  the  Queen  of  Palmyra  fled 
upon  a  dromedary,  but  was  pursued  and  captured. 
Palmyra  surrendered  and  was  spared ;  but  unfortu- 
nately, with  a  folly  which  marks  the  haughty  spirit  of 
the  place  unfitted  to  brook  submission,  scarcely  had 
the  conquering  army  retired  when  a  tumult  arose,  and 
the  Roman  gaiTison  was  slaughtered.  Little  knowledge 
could  those  have  had  of  Aurelian's  character,  who 
tempted  him  to  acts  but  too  welcome  to  his  cruel 
nature  by  such  an  outrage  as  this.  The  news  over- 
took the  emperor  on  the  Hellespont.  Instantly,  without 
pause,  '  like  Ate  hot  from  hell,'  Aurelian  retraced 
his  steps  —  reached  the  guilty  city  —  and  consigned  it, 
with  all  its  population,  to  that  utter  destruction  from 
which  it  has  never  since  risen.  The  energetic  admin- 
istration of  Aurelian  had  now  restored  the  empire  — 
not  to  its  lost  vigor,  that  was  impossible  —  but  to  a 
condition  of  repose.  That  was  a  condition  more  agree- 
able to  the  empire  than  to  the  emperor.  Peace  wa» 
fateful  to  Aurelian;  and  he  sought  for  war,  where  i 
could  seldom  be  sought  in  vain,   upon   the    Persian 


THB    C^SABS.  23d 

frontier.  But  lie  was  not  destined  to  reach  the  Eu- 
phrates ;  and  it  is  worthy  of  notice,  as  a  providentia* 
ordinance,  that  his  own  unmerciful  nature  was  the 
ultimate  cause  of  his  fate.  Anticipating  the  emperor's 
severity  in  punishing  some  errors  of  his  own,  Mucassor, 
a  general  officer,  in  whom  Aurelian  placed  especial 
confidence,  assassinated  him  between  Byzantium  and 
Heraclea.  An  interregnum  of  eight  months  succeeded, 
during  which  there  occurred  a  contest  of  a  memorable 
nature.  Some  historians  have  described  it  as  strange 
and  surprising.  To  us,  on  the  contrary,  it  seems  that 
no  contest  could  be  more  natural.  Heretofore  the 
great  strife  had  been  in  what  way  to  secure  the  re- 
version or  possession  of  that  great  dignity ;  whereas 
now  the  rivalship  lay  in  declining  it.  But  surely  such 
a  competition  had  in  it,  under  the  circumstances  of 
the  empire,  little  that  can  justly  surprise  us.  Always 
a  post  of  danger,  and  so  regularly  closed  by  assassina- 
tion, that  in  a  course  of  two  centuries  there  are  hardly 
to  be  found  three  or  four  cases  of  exception,  the  im- 
peratorial  dignity  had  now  become  burdened  with 
a  public  responsibility  which  exacted  great  military 
talents,  and  imposed  a  perpetual  and  personal  activity. 
Formerly,  if  the  emperor  knew  himself  to  be  sur- 
rounded with  assassins,  he  might  at  least  make  hig 
l\irone,  so  long  as  he  enjoyed  it,  the  couch  of  a 
voluptuary.  The  '  ave  imperator ! '  was  then  the 
lummons,  if  to  the  supremacy  in  passive  danger    eo 


234  THE    C^SABS. 

also  to  the  supremacy  in  power,  and  honoi,  anj 
enjoyment.  But  now  it  Avas  a  summons  to  never- 
ending  tumults  and  alarms  ;  an  injunction  to  that  sort 
of  vigilance  without  intermission,  which,  even  from 
tho  poor  sentinel,  is  exacted  only  when  on  duty.  Not 
Rome,  but  the  frontier ;  not  the  aurea  domus,  but  a 
camp,  was  the  imperial  residence.  Power  and  rank, 
whilst  in  that  residence,  could  be  had  in  no  larger 
measure  by  Caesar  as  Caesar,  than  by  the  same  indi- 
vidual as  a  military  commander-in-chief;  and,  as  to 
enjoyment,  that  for  the  Roman  imperator  was  now 
extinct.  Rest  there  could  be  none  for  him.  Battle 
was  the  tenure  by  which  he  held  his  office ;  and  be- 
yond the  range  of  his  trumpet's  blare,  his  sceptre  was 
«  broken  reed.  The  office  of  Csesar  at  this  time  re- 
sembled the  situation  (as  it  is  sometimes  described  in 
romances)  of  a  knight  who  had  achieved  the  favor  of 
some  capricious  lady,  with  the  present  possession  of 
her  castle  and  ample  domains,  but  which  he  holds 
under  the  known  and  accepted  condition  of  meeting 
all  challenges  whatsoever  offered  at  the  gate  by  wan- 
dering strangers,  and  also  of  jousting  at  any  moment 
with  each  and  all  amongst  the  inmates  of  the  castle. 
%s  often  as  a  wish  may  arise  to  benefit  by  the  chancer 
in  disputing  his  supremacy. 

It  is  a  circumstance,  moreover,  to  be  noticed  in  the 
aspect  of  the  Roman  monarchy  at  this  period,  that  the 
pressure  of  the  evils  wc  arc  now  considering,  applied 


THE    CjESARS.  23f 

to  this  pai'ticular  age  of  the  empire  beyond  all  other*. 
as  being  an  age  of  transition  from  a  greater  to  an 
inferior  power.  Had  the  power  been  either  greater  or 
conspicuously  less,  in  that  proportion  would  the  pres- 
sure have  been  easier,  or  none  at  all.  Being  greater, 
for  example,  the  danger  would  have  been  repelled  to 
a  distance  so  great  that  mere  remoteness  would  have 
disarmed  its  terrors,  or  otherwise  it  would  have  been 
violently  overawed.  Being  less,  on  the  other  hand, 
and  less  in  an  eminent  degree,  it  would  have  disposed 
all  parties,  as  it  did  at  an  after  period,  to  regular  and 
formal  compromises  in  the  shape  of  fixed  annual  trib- 
utes. At  present  the  policy  of  the  barbarians  along 
the  vast  line  of  the  northern  frontier,  was,  to  tease  and 
irritate  the  provinces  which  they  were  not  entirely 
able,  or  prudentially  unwilling,  to  dismember.  Yet,  as 
(he  almost  annual  irruptions  were  at  every  instant 
ready  to  be  converted  into  coup-de-mains  upon  AquUeia 
—  upon  Verona  —  or  even  upon  Rome  itself,  unless 
vigorously  curbed  at  the  outset,  —  each  emperor  at  this 
period  found  himself  under  the  necessity  of  standing  in 
the  attitude  of  a  champion  or  propugnator  on  the  fron- 
tier line  of  his  territory  —  ready  for  all  comers  —  and 
with  a  pretty  certain  prospect  of  having  one  pitched 
battle  at  the  least  to  fight  in  every  successive  summer. 
There  were  nations  abroad  at  this  epoch  in  Europe 
who  did  not  migrate  occasionally,  or  occasionally  pro- 
ject themselves  upon  the  'livilizcd  portion  of  the  globet 


236  THE    CMSXR9. 

but  who  made  it  their  steady  regular  occupation  to  da 
to,  and  lived  for  no  other  purpose.  For  seven  hundred 
years  the  Roman  Republic  might  be  styled  a  republic 
militant;  for  about  one  century  further  it  was  an 
empire  triumphant ;  and  now,  long  retrograde,  it  had 
reached  that  point  at  which  again,  but  in  a  different 
sense,  it  might  be  styled  an  empire  militant.  Originally 
it  had  militated  for  glory  and  power ;  now  its  militancy 
was  for  mere  existence.  War  was  again  the  trade  of 
Rome,  as  it  had  been  once  before  ;  but  in  that  earlier 
period  war  had  been  its  highest  glory  ;  now  it  was  its 
dire  necessity. 

Under  this  analysis  of  the  Roman  condition,  need  we 
wonder,  with  the  crowd  of  unreflecting  historians,  that 
the  senate,  at  the  era  of  Aurelian's  death,  should  dis- 
pute amongst  each  other  —  not  as  once,  for  the  pos- 
session of  the  sacred  purple,  but  for  the  luxury  and 
safety  of  declining  it?  The  sad  pre-eminence  waa 
finally  imposed  upon  Tacitus,  a  senator  who  traced 
his  descent  from  the  historian  of  that  name,  who  had 
reached  an  age  of  seventy-five  years,  and  who  pos- 
sessed a  fortune  of  three  millions  sterling.^  Vainly  did 
the  agitated  old  senator  open  his  lips  to  decline  the 
perilous  honor ;  five  hundred  voices  insisted  upon  the 
necessity  of  his  compliance ;  and  thus,  as  a  foreign 
writer  observes,  was  the  descendant  of  him,  whose 
glory  it  had  been  to  signalize  himself  as  the  hater  o* 
despotism,  under  the  absolute  necessity  of  becoming 
«n  his  own  person,  a  despot. 


THE    CJESABS.  237 

The  aged  senator  then  was  compelled  to  be  emperor, 
fcnd  forced,  in  spite  of  his  vehement  reluctance,  to  quit 
the  comforts  of  a  palace,  which,  he  was  never  to  revisit, 
for  the  hardships  of  a  distant  camp.  His  first  act  waa 
etrikingly  illustrative  of  the  Roman  condition,  as  we 
have  just  described  it.  Aurelian  had  attempted  to 
disarm  one  set  of  enemies  by  turning  the  current  .if 
their  fury  upon  another.  The  Alani  were  in  search 
of  plunder,  and  strongly  disposed  to  obtain  it  from 
Roman  provinces.  '  But  no,'  said  Aurelian  ;  '  if  you 
do  that  I  shall  unchain  my  legions  upon  you.  Be 
better  advised  :  keep  those  excellent  dispositions  of 
mind,  and  that  admirable  taste  for  plunder,  until  you 
come  whither  I  will  conduct  you.  Then  discharge 
your  fury  and  welcome  ;  besides  which,  I  will  pay 
you  wages  for  your  immediate  abstinence  ;  and  on  the 
other  side  the  Euphrates  you  shall  pay  yourselves.' 
Such  was  the  outline  of  the  contract ;  and  the  Alani 
had  accordingly  held  themselves  in  readiness  to  accom- 
pany Aurelian  from  Europe  to  his  meditated  Persian 
campaign.  Meantime,  that  emperor  had  perished  by 
treason  ;  and  the  Alani  were  still  waiting  for  his  suc- 
cessor on  the  throne  to  complete  his  engagements  with 
themselves,  as  being  of  necessity  the  successor  also 
to  his  wars  and  to  his  responsibilities.  It  happened, 
from  the  state  of  the  empire,  as  we  have  sketched  it 
above,  that  Tacitus  rtally  did  succeed  to  the  military 
plans  of  Aurelian.     The  Persian   expedition   was  or- 


£38  THE    CJiSARS. 

dalned  to  go  forward;  and  Tacilas  began,  as  a  pre* 
liminary  step  in  that  expedition,  to  look  about  for  his 
good  allies  the  barbarians.  Where  might  they  be,  and 
how  employed  ?  Naturally,  they  had  long  been  weary 
of  waiting.  The  Persian  booty  might  be  good  aftei 
its  kind ;  but  it  was  far  away  ;  and,  en  attendant, 
Roman  booty  was  doubtless  good  after  its  kind.  And 
BO,  throughout  the  provinces  of  Cappadocia,  Pontus, 
&c.,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  stretch,  nothing  was  to  be 
seen  but  cities  and  villages  in  flames.  The  Koman 
army  hungered  and  thirsted  to  be  unmuzzled  and 
slipped  upon  these  false  friends.  But  this,  for  the 
present,  Tacitus  would  not  allow.  He  began  by  punc- 
tually fulfilling  all  the  terms  of  Aurelian's  contract,  — 
a  measure  which  barbarians  inevitably  construed  into 
the  language  of  fear.  But  then  came  the  retribution. 
Having  satisfied  public  justice,  the  emperor  now 
thought  of  vengeance ;  he  unchained  his  legions  ;  8 
brief  space  of  time  sufiiced  for  a  long  course  of  ven- 
geance :  and  through  every  outlet  of  Asia  Minor  the 
Alani  fled  from  the  wrath  of  the  Roman  soldier.  Here, 
Lowever,  terminated  the  military  labors  of  Tacitus  : 
he  died  at  Tyana  in  Cappadocia,  as  some  say,  from 
ehe  efiects  of  the  climate  of  the  Caucasus,  co-operating 
with  irritations  from  the  insolence  of  the  soldiery  :  but, 
AS  Zosimus  and  Zonoras  expressly  assure  us,  under  the 
murderous  hands  of  his  own  troops.  His  brother 
Florianus  at  first  usurped  the  purple,  by  the  aid  of  th* 


THE    C^SABS  289 

lUyrian  army  ;  but  the  cnoice  of  other  armies,  after- 
wards confirmed  by  the  senate,  settled  upon  Probug, 
a  general  already  celebrated  under  Aurelian.  The 
two  competitors  drew  near  to  each  other  for  the  usual 
decision  by  the  sword,  when  the  dastardly  supporters 
of  Florian  offered  up  their  chosen  prince  as  a  sacrifice 
to  his  antagonist.  Probus,  settled  in  his  seat,  addressed 
himself  to  the  regular  business  of  those  times,  —  to  the 
reduction  of  insurgent  provinces,  and  the  liberation 
of  others  from  hostile  molestations.  Isauria  and  Egypt 
he  visited  in  the  character  of  a  conqueror,  Gaul  in  the 
character  of  a  deliverer.  From  the  Gaulish  provinces 
he  chased  in  succession  the  Franks,  the  Burgundians, 
and  the  Lygians.  He  pursued  the  intruders  far  into 
their  German  thickets  ;  and  nine  of  the  native  German 
princes  came  spontaneously  into  his  camp,  subscribed 
such  conditions  as  he  thought  fit  to  dictate,  and  com- 
plied mth  his  requisitions  of  tribute  in  horses  and  pro- 
visions. This,  however,  is  a  delusive  gleam  of  Roman 
energy,  little  corresponding  with  the  true  condition  of 
the  Roman  power,  and  entirely  due  to  the  personal 
qualities  of  Probus.  Probus  himself  showed  his  sense 
of  the  true  state  of  affairs,  by  carrying  a  stone  wall, 
of  considerable  height,  from  the  Danube  to  the  Neckar. 
He  made  various  attempts  also  to  effect  a  better  distri- 
bution of  barbarous  tribes,  by  dislocating  their  settle- 
ments, and  making  extensive  translations  of  their  clans, 
tccordinn;  to  the  circumstances  of  those  times.     T^esa 


240  THE    CJiSAKS. 

arrangements,  however,  suggested  often  b/  sliort* 
sighted  views,  and  carried  into  effect  by  mere  violence, 
were  sometimes  defeated  visibly  at  the  time,  *ad, 
doubtless,  in  very  few  cases  accomplished  the  ends 
proposed.  In  one  instance,  where  a  party  of  Franki 
had  been  transported  into  the  Asiatic  province  of  Pon- 
tus,  as  a  column  of  defence  against  the  intrusive  Alani, 
being  determined  to  revisit  their  own  country,  they 
swam  the  Hellespont,  landed  on  the  coasts  of  Asia 
Minc>r  and  of  Greece,  plundered  Syracuse,  steered  for 
the  Straits  of  Gibraltar,  sailed  along  the  shores  of  Spain 
and  Gaul,  passing  finally  through  the  English  Channel 
and  the  German  Ocean,  right  onwards  to  the  Frisic 
and  Batavian  coasts,  where  they  exultingly  rejoined 
their  exulting  friends.  Meantime,  all  the  energy  and 
military  skill  of  Probus  could  not  save  him  from  the 
competition  of  various  rivals.  Indeed,  it  must  then 
have  been  felt,  as  by  us  who  look  back  on  those  times 
't  is  now  felt,  that,  amidst  so  continued  a  series  of  brief 
•signs,  interrupted  by  murders,  scarcely  an  idea 
;ould  arise  answering  to  our  modern  ideas  of  treason 
and  usurpation.  For  the  ideas  of  fealty  and  allegiance, 
as  to  a  sacred  and  anointed  monarch,  could  have  no 
time  to  take  root.  Candidates  for  the  purple  must 
have  been  viewed  rather  as  military  rivals  than  m 
traitors  to  the  reigning  Caesar.  And  hence  the  reason 
fur  the  right  resistance  which  was  often  experienced 
by  the  seducers  of  armies.     Probus,  however,  as  acci 


THE    C^SABS.  241 

lent  in  his  case  ordered  it,  subdued  all  his  personal 
opponents,  —  Saturninus  in  the  East,  Proculus  and 
Bonoses  in  Gaul.  For  these  victories  he  triumphed  in 
the  year  281.  But  his  last  hour  was  even  then  at 
hand.  One  point  of  his  military  discipline,  vhich  he 
brought  back  from  elder  days,  was,  to  suffer  no  idle- 
ness in  his  camps.  He  it  was  who,  by  military  labor, 
transferred  to  Gaul  and  to  Hungary  the  Italian  vine,  to 
the  great  indignation  of  the  Italian  monopolist.  The 
culture  of  vineyards,  the  laying  of  military  roads,  the 
draining  of  marshes,  and  similar  labors,  perpetually 
employed  the  hands  of  his  stubborn  and  contumacious 
troops.  On  some  work  of  this  nature  the  army  hap- 
pened to  be  employed  near  Sirmium,  and  Probus  was 
looking  on  from  a  tower,  when  a  sudden  frenzy  of 
disobedience  seized  upon  the  men :  a  party  of  the 
mutineers  ran  up  to  the  emperor,  and  with  a  hundred 
wounds  laid  him  instantly  dead.  "We  are  told  by  some 
writers  that  the  army  was  immediately  seized  with  re- 
norse  for  its  own  act ;  which,  if  truly  reported,  rather 
tends  to  confirm  the  image,  otherwise  impressed  upon  ub 
of  the  relations  between  the  army  and  Caesar,  as  pretty 
closely  corresponding  with  those  between  some  fierce 
wild  beast  and  its  keeper ;  the  keeper,  if  not  uniformly 
^gilant  as  an  argus,  is  continually  liable  to  fall  a 
gacrifice  to  the  wild  instincts  of  the  b'-ute,  mastering 
tt  intervals  the  reverence  and  fear  under  which  it  haa 
been  habitually  trained.    In  this  case,  both  the  murder* 


242  THE    C^SASS. 

ing  impulse  and  the  remorse  seem  alike  the  effects  of 
ft  brute  instinct,  and  to  have  arisen  under  no  guidance 
of  rational  purpose  or  reflection.  The  person  whc 
profited  by  this  murder  was  Cams,  the  captain  of  the 
guard,  a  man  of  advanced  years,  and  a  soldier,  both 
by  experience  and  by  his  propensities.  He  was  pro- 
claimed emperor  by  the  army;  and  on  this  occasion 
there  was  no  further  reference  to  the  senate,  than  by 
a  dry  statement  of  the  facts  for  its  information.  Troub- 
ling himself  little  about  the  approbation  of  a  body 
not  likely  in  any  way  to  affect  his  purposes  (which 
were  purely  martial,  and  adapted  to  the  tumultuous 
state  of  the  empire),  Carus  made  immediate  prepara- 
tions for  pursuing  the  Persian  expedition,  —  so  long 
promised,  and  so  often  interrupted.  Having  provided 
for  the  security  of  the  lUyriah  frontier  by  a  bloody 
victory  over  the  Sarmatians,  of  whom  we  now  hear 
for  the  first  time,  Carus  advanced  towards  the  Eu- 
phrates ;  and  from  the  summit  of  a  mountain  he  point- 
ed the  eyes  of  his  eager  army  upon  the  rich  provinceg 
of  the  Persian  empire.  Varanes,  the  successor  of 
Artaxerxes,  vainly  endeavored  to  negotiate  a  peace. 
From  some  unknown  cause,  the  Persian  armies  were 
not  at  this  juncture  disposable  against  Carus  :  it  has 
been  conjectured  by  some  writers  that  they  were 
engaged  in  an  Indian  war.  Carus,  it  is  certain,  met 
▼ith  littie  resistance.  He  insisted  on  having  the  Roman 
■upremacy   acknowledged    as   a   preliminary    to    anj 


^  THE    C^SARS.  243 

ireaty ;  and,  having  threatened  to  make  Persia  as  bare 
R8  his  own  skull,  he  is  supposed  to  have  kept  his  word 
with  regard  to  Mesopotamia.  The  great  cities  of 
Ctesiphon  and  Seleucia  he  took  ;  and  vast  expectations 
were  formed  at  Rome  of  the  events  which  stood  nex* 
in  succession,  when,  on  Christmas  day,  283,  a  sudden 
and  mysterious  end  overtook  Carus  and  his  victorious 
advance.  The  story  transmitted  to  Rome  was,  that 
a  great  storpi,  and  a  sudden  darkness,  had  surprised 
the  camp  of  Carus ;  that  the  emperor,  previously  ill, 
and  reposing  in  his  tent,  was  obscured  from  sight ;  that 
at  length  a  cry  had  arisen,  —  '  The  emperor  io  dead  !  * 
and  that,  at  the  same  moment,  the  imperial  tent  had 
taken  fire.  The  fire  was  traced  to  the  confusion  of 
his  attendants ;  and  this  confusion  was  imputed  by 
themselves  to  grief  for  their  master's  death.  In  all 
this  it  is  easy  to  read  pretty  circumstantially  a  murdet 
committed  on  the  emperor  by  corrupted  servants,  and 
an  attempt  aftsrwai'ds  to  conceal  the  indications  of 
murder  by  the  ravages  of  fire.  The  report  propagated 
through  the  army,  and  at  that  time  received  with  credit, 
was,  that  Carus  had  been  struck  by  lightning  :  and  that 
omen,  according  to  the  Roman  interpretation,  implied 
t  necessity  of  retiring  from  the  expedition.  So  that, 
apparently,  the  whole  was  a  bloody  intrigue,  set  on 
foot  for  the  purpose  of  counteracting  the  emperor's 
resolution  to  prosecute  tne  war.  His  son  Numerian 
vucceeded  to  the  rank  of  emperor  by  the  choice  of  the 


?44  THE    C-a;SA.RS. 

ftimy.  But  the  mysterious  faction  of  murderers  vfei%i 
Btill  at  work.  After  eight  months'  march  from  the 
Tigris  to  the  Thracian  Bosphorus,  the  army  halted  at 
Chalcedon.  At  this  point  of  time  a  report  arose  sud- 
denly, that  the  Emperor  Numerian  was  dead.  The 
impatience  of  the  soldiery  would  brook  no  uncertainty  ; 
they  rushed  to  the  spot ;  satisfied  themselves  of  the 
fact;  and,  loudly  denouncing  as  the  murderer  Aper, 
the  captain  of  the  gur-rd,  committed  him  to  custody, 
and  assigned  to  Dioclesian,  whom  at  the  same  time 
they  invested  v/ith  the  supreme  power,  the  duty  of 
investigating  the  case.  Dioclesian  acquitted  himself 
of  this  task  in  a  very  summary  way,  by  passing  his 
sword  through  the  captain  before  he  could  say  a  word 
in  his  defence.  It  seems  that  Dioclesian,  having  been 
promised  the  empire  by  a  prophetess  as  soon  as  he 
should  have  killed  a  wild  boar  [Aper],  was  anxious  to 
realize  the  omen.  The  whole  proceeding  has  been 
taxed  with  injustice  so  manifest,  as  not  even  to  seek 
a  disguise.  Meantime,  it  should  be  remembered  that, 
Hrst,  Aper,  as  the  captain  of  the  guard,  was  answer- 
able for  the  emperor's  safety ;  secondly ,  that  hia 
»nxiety  to  profit  by  the  emperor's  murder  was  a  sure 
iJign  that  he  had  participated  in  that  act ;  and,  thirdly, 
that  the  assent  of  the  soldiery  to  the  open  and  public 
act  of  Dioclesian,  implies  a  conviction  on  their  part 
if  Aper's  guilt.  Here  let  us  pause,  having  now 
%.n"ved  at  the  fourth  and  last  group  of  the  Caesars,  Xi 


THE    C^SA3S.  245 

notice  the  changes  which  had  been  wrought  by  time, 
co-operating  with  political  events,  iu  the  very  nature 
U)d  constitution  of  the  imperial  office. 

If  it  should  unfortunately  happen,  that  the  palace  of 
the  Vatican,  with  its  thirteen  thousand^*  chambers, 
were  to  take  fire  —  for  a  considerable  space  of  time 
the  fire  would  be  retarded  by  the  mere  enormity  of 
extent  which  it  would  have  to  traverse.  But  there 
would  come  at  length  a  critical  moment,  at  which  the 
maximum  of  the  retarding  effect  having  been  attained, 
the  bulk  and  volume  of  the  flaming  mass  would  thence- 
forward assist  the  flames  in  the  rapidity  of  their  pro- 
gress. Such  was  the  effect  upon  the  declension  of  the 
Roman  empire  from  the  vast  extent  of  its  territory. 
For  a  very  long  period  that  very  extent,  which  finally 
became  the  overwhelming  cause  of  its  ruin,  served  to 
retard  and  to  disguise  it,  A  small  encroachment, 
made  at  any  one  point  upon  the  integrity  of  the  em- 
pire was  neither  much  regarded  at  Rome,  nor  perhaps 
iu  and  for  itself  much  deserved  to  be  regarded.  But  a 
very  narrow  belt  of  enchroachments,  made  upon  almost 
ecery  part  of  so  enormous  a  circumference,  was  suffi- 
cient, of  itself  to  compose  something  of  an  antagonist 
force.  And  to  these  external  dilapidations,  we  must 
«dd  the  far  more  important  dilapidations  from  within, 
effecting  all  the  institutions  o^'  the  State,  and  all  the 
forces,  whether  moral  or  political,  which  had  originally 
raised  it  or  maintained   it.     Causes  which  had   been 


246  THE    C^SABS. 

latent  in  the  public  arrangements  ever  since  the  time 
of  Augustus,  and  had  been  silently  preying  upon  its 
vitals,  had  now  reached  a  height  which  would  no  longer 
brook  concealment.  The  fire  which  had  smouldered 
through  generations  had  broken  out  at  length  into  an 
open  conflagration.  Uproar  and  disorder,  and  (he 
anarchy  of  a  superannuated  empire,  strong  only  to 
punish  and  impotent  to  defend,  were  at  this  time  con- 
vulsing the  provinces  in  every  point  of  the  compass 
Rome  herself  had  been  menaced  repeatedly.  And  a 
Btill  more  awful  indication  of  the  coming  storm  had 
been  felt  far  to  the  south  of  Rome.  One  long  Avave 
of  the  great  German  deluge  had  stretched  beyond  the 
Pyrenees  and  the  Pillars  of  Hercules,  to  the  xeij 
soil  of  Ancient  Carthage.  Victorious  banners  were 
already  floating  on  the  margin  of  the  Great  Desert, 
and  they  were  not  the  banners  of  Caesar.  Some  vig- 
orous hand  was  demanded  at  this  moment,  or  else  the 
funeral  knell  of  Rome  was  on  the  point  of  sounding. 
Indeed,  there  is  every  reason  to  believe  that,  had  the 
imbecile  Carinus  (the  brother  of  Numerian)  succeed- 
ed to  the  command  of  the  Roman  armies  at  thij 
time,  or  any  other  than  Dioclesian,  the  Empire  of  the 
West  would  have  fallen  to  pieces  within  the  next  ten 
fears. 

Dioclesian  was  doubtless  that  man  of  iron  whom 
ine  times  demanded ;  and  a  foreign  writer  has  gone  S6 
^r  as  to  class  him  amongst  the  greatest  of  men,  if  he 


THE     CiESABS.  247 

irere  nof  even  himself  the  greatest.  But  the  position 
of  Dioclesian  was  remarkable  beyond  all  precedent, 
and  was  alone  sufficient  to  prevent  his  being  the 
greatest  of  men,  by  making  it  necessary  that  he  should 
be  the  most  selfish.  For  the  case  stood  thus  :  If  Rome 
were  in  danger,  much  more  so  was  Ci3esar.  If  the 
condition  of  the  empire  were  such  that  hardly  any 
energy  or  any  foresight  was  adequate  to  its  defence, 
for  the  emperor,  on  the  other  hand,  there  was  scarcely 
a  possibility  that  he  should  escape  destruction.  The 
chances  were  in  an  overbalance  against  the  empire ; 
but  for  the  emperor  there  was  no  chance  at  all.  He 
shared  in  all  the  hazards  of  the  empire ;  and  had 
others  so  peculiarly  pointed  at  himself,  that  his  assas- 
sination was  now  become  as  much  a  matter  of  certain 
calculation,  as  seed  time  or  harvest,  summer  or  winter, 
or  any  other  revolution  of  the  seasons.  The  problem, 
therefore,  for  Dioclesian  was  a  double  one,  —  so  to 
provide  for  the  defence  and  maintenance  of  the  em- 
^»ire,  as  simultaneously  (and,  if  possible,  through  the 
very  same  institution)  to  provide  for  the  personal 
lecurity  of  Caesar.  This  problem  he  solved,  in  some 
imperfect  degree,  by  the  only  expedient  perhaps  open 
to  him  in  that  despotism,  and  in  those  times.  But  it  ia 
remarkable,  that,  by  the  revolution  which  he  effected, 
.he  office  •f  Roman  Imperator  was  completely  altered, 
uid  Caesar  became  nenceforwards  an  Oriental  Sultan 
ir  Padishah.    Augustus,  when  moulding  for  his  future 


B48  THE    C^SASS. 

purposes  the  form  and  constitution  of  that  supremacy 
which  he  had  obtained  by  inheritance  and  by  arms, 
proceeded  with  so  much  caution  and  prudence,  thai 
even  the  style  and  title  of  his  office  was  discussed  in 
council  as  a  matter  of  the  first  moment.  The  principle 
of  his  policy  was  to  absorb  into  his  own  functions  all 
those  high  offices  which  conferred  any  real  power  to  bal- 
ance or  to  control  his  own.  For  this  reason  he  appro- 
priated the  tribunitian  power ;  because  that  was  a 
popular  and  representative  office,  which,  as  occasions 
arose,  would  have  given  some  opening  to  democratic 
influences.  But  the  consular  office  he  left  untouched ; 
because  all  its  power  was  transferred  to  the  imperator, 
by  the  entire  command  of  the  army,  and  by  the  new 
organization  of  the  provincial  governments.^^  And  in 
all  the  rest  of  his  arrangements,  Augustus  had  pro- 
ceeded on  the  principle  of  leaving  as  many  openings 
^o  civic  influences,  and  impressing  npon  all  his  insti- 
tutions as  much  of  the  old  Roman  character,  as  was 
compatible  with  the  real  and  substantial  supremacy 
established  in  the  person  of  the  emperor.  Neither  is 
it  at  all  certain,  as  regarded  even  this  aspect  of  the 
imperatorial  office,  that  Augustus  had  the  purpose,  or 
<«o  much  as  the  wish,  to  annihilate  all  collateral  power, 
ind  to  invest  the  chief  magistrate  with  absolute  irre- 
iponsitility.  For  himself,  as  called  upon  to  restore  s 
ikattered  government,  and  out  of  the  anarchy  of  civil 
wars  to  reoombine  the  elements  of  power  into  som» 


THE    CjESAUS.  249 

ihape  l>etter  fitted  for  duration  (and,  by  consequence, 
for  insuring  peace  and  protection  to  the  world)  than 
the  extinct  republic,  it  might  be  reasonable  to  seek 
such  an  irresponsibility.  But.  as  regarded  his  succes- 
sors, considering  the  great  pains  he  took  to  discourag* 
all  manifestations  of  princely  arrogance,  and  to  devel- 
ope,  by  education  and  example,  the  civic  virtues  of 
patriotism  and  affability  in  their  whole  bearing  towards 
the  people  of  Rome,  there  is  reason  to  presume  that  he 
wished  to  remove  them  from  popular  control,  without, 
therefore,  removing  them  from  popular  influence. 

Hence  it  was,  and  from  this  original  precedent  of 
Augustus,  aided  by  the  constitution  which  he  had  given 
to  the  office  of  imperator,  that  up  to  the  era  of  Diocle- 
Bian,  no  prince  had  dared  utterly  to  neglect  the  senate, 
or  the  people  of  Rome.  He  might  hate  the  senate, 
like  Severus,  or  Aurelian  ;  he  might  even  meditate 
their  extermination,  like  the  brutal  Maximin.  But  this 
arose  from  any  cause  rather  than  from  contempt.  Ho 
hated  them  precisely  because  he  feared  them,  or  be- 
cause he  paid  them  an  involuntary  tribute  of  supersti- 
tious reverence,  or  because  the  malice  of  a  tyrant 
interpreted  into  a  sort  of  treason  the  rival  influence  of 
the  senate  ovei  the  .ninds  of  men.  But,  before  Dio- 
clesian,  the  undervaluing  of  the  senate,  or  the  harshest 
Treatment  of  that  body,  had  arisen  from  views  which 
were  personal  to  the  individual  Cdesar.  It  was  no^ 
Kiadc  to  arise  from  the  very  cons  itution  of  the  office 


250  THE    C^SAKS. 

and  the  mode  of  the  appointment.  To  defend  th« 
empire,  it  was  the  opinion  of  Diociesian  that  a  single 
emperor  was  not  sufficient.  And  it  struck  him,  at  the 
same  time,  that  by  the  very  institution  of  a  plurality  oi 
ffmperors,  which  was  now  destined  to  secure  the  integ- 
rity of  the  empire,  ample  provision  might  be  made  foi 
the  personal  security  of  each  emperor.  He  carried  hi« 
plan  into  immediate  execution,  by  appointing  an  asso- 
ciate to  his  own  rank  of  Augustus  in  the  person  of 
Maximian  —  an  experienced  general ;  whilst  each  of 
them  in  effect  multiplied  his  own  office  still  farther  by 
severally  appointing  a  Caesar,  or  hereditary  prince. 
And  thus  the  very  same  partition  of  the  public  author- 
ity, by  means  of  a  duality  of  emperors,  to  which  the 
senate  had  often  resorted  of  late,  as  the  best  means  of 
restoring  their  own  republican  aristocracy,  was  now 
adopted  by  Dioclesian  as  the  simplest  engine  for  over- 
'.hrowing  finally  the  power  of  either  senate  or  army  to 

n^terfere  Avith  the  elective  privilege.  This  he  endeav- 
ored to  centre  in  the  existing  emperors  ;  and,  at  the 
same  moment,  to  discourage  treason  or  usurpation 
generally,  whether  in  the  party  choosing  or  the  party 
chosen,  by  securing  to  each  emperor,  in  the  case  of 
bis  own  assassination,  an  avenger  in  the  person  of  his 
•urviving  associate,  as  also  in  the  persons  of  the  two 
S^sesars,  or  adopted  heirs  and  lieutenants.  The  asso- 
tiate  emperor,  Maximian,  together  with  the  two  Csesarj 

~  Galerius    appointed    by   himself,    and    Constantiui 


THE     CiESAKS.  251 

Chlorus  by  Maximian  —  were  all  bound  to  himself  by 
ties  of  gratitude  ;  all  owing  their  stations  ultimately 
to  his  own  favor.  And  these  ties  he  endeavored  to 
strengthen  by  other  ties  of  affinity ;  each  of  the 
Augusti  having  given  his  daughter  in  marriage  to  his 
own  adopted  Caesar.  And  thus  it  seemed  scarcely 
possible  that  an  usurpation  should  be  successful  against 
Fo  firm  a  league  of  friends  and  relations. 

The  direct  purposes  of  Dioclesian  were  but  imper- 
fectly attained  ;  the  internal  peace  of  the  empire  lasted 
only  during  his  own  reign ;  and  with  his  abdication  of 
the  empire  commenced  the  bloodiest  civil  wars  which 
has  desolated  the  world  since  the  contests  of  the  great 
triumvirate.  But  the  collateral  blow,  which  he  medi- 
tated against  the  authority  of  the  senate,  was  entirely 
successful.  Never  again  had  the  senate  any  real  influ- 
ence on  the  fate  of  the  world.  And  with  the  power 
of  the  senate  expired  concurrently  the  weight  and 
influence  of  Rome.  Dioclesian  is  supposed  never  to 
have  seen  Rome,  except  on  the  single  occasion  when 
he  entered  it  for  the  ceremonial  purpose  of  a  triumph. 
Even  for  that  purpose  it  ceased  to  be  a  city  of  resort ; 
for  Dioclesian's  was  the  final  triumph.  And,  lastly, 
tven  as  the  chief  city  of  the  empire  for  business  oi 
for  pleasure,  it  ceased  to  claim  .the  homage  of  man- 
Kind  ;  the  Caesar  was  already  born  whose  destiny  it 
was  to  cashier  th»  metropolis  of  the  world,  and  to 
tppoint  her  successor.      This  also   may  be  regarded  in 


252  THE    C^SABS. 

effect  as  the  ordinance  of  Dioclesian ;  for  he,  by  hia 
long  residence  at  Nicomedia,  expressed  his  opinion 
pretty  plainly,  that  Rome  was  not  central  enough  to 
perform  the  functions  of  a  capital  to  so  vast  an  empire ; 
that  this  was  one  cause  of  the  declension  now  become 
BO  visible  in  the  forces  of  the  State  ;  and  that  some 
city,  not  very  far  from  the  Hellespont  or  the  ^gean 
Sea,  would  be  a  capital  better  adapted  by  position  to 
the  exigencies  of  the  times. 

But  the  revolutions  effected  by  Dioclesian  did  not 
stop  here.  The  simplicity  of  its  republican  origin  had 
BO  far  affected  the  external  character  and  expression 
of  the  imperial  office,  that  in  the  midst  of  luxury  the 
most  unbounded,  and  spite  of  all  other  corruptions,  a 
majestic  plainness  of  manners,  deportment,  and  dress, 
had  still  continued  from  generation  to  generation,  char- 
acteristic of  the  Roman  imperator  in  his  intercourse 
with  his  subjects.  All  this  was  now  changed  ;  and 
for  the  Roman  was  substituted  the  Persian  dress,  the 
Persian  style  of  household,  a  Persian  court,  and  Per- 
sian manners.  A  diadem,  or  tiara  besot  with  pearls, 
now  encircled  the  temples  of  the  Roman  Augustus ; 
his  sandals  were  studded  with  pearls,  as  in  the  Persian 
court ;  and  tlie  other  parts  of  his  dress  were  in  har- 
mony with  these.  The  prince  was  instructed  no  longer 
to  make  himself  familiar  to  the  eyes  of  men.  He 
lequfestered  himself  from  his  subjects  in  the  recessei 
of  his    palace.     None,    who    sought    him,  could    anj 


THE    C^SABS.  263 

Longer  gain  easy  admission  to  liis  presence.  It  was  a 
point  of  his  new  duties  to  be  difficult  of  access  ;  and 
tliey  who  were  at  length  admitted  to  an  audience, 
ound  him  surrounded  by  eunuchs,  and  were  expected 
to  make  their  approaches  by  genuflexions,  by  servile 
'  adorations,'  and  by  real  acts  of  worship  as  to  a  visible 
god. 

It  is  strange  that  a  ritual  of  court  ceremonies,  so 
elaborate  and  artificial  as  this,  should  first  have  been 
introduced  by  a  soldier,  and  a  warlike  soldier  like 
Dioclesian.  This,  however,  is  in  part  explained  by  his 
education  and  long  residence  in  Eastern  countries. 
But  the  same  eastern  training  fell  to  the  lot  of  Con- 
Btantine,  who  was  in  effect  his  successor ;  '^  and  the 
Oriental  tone  and  standai-d  established  by  these  two 
emperors,  though  disturbed  a  little  by  the  plain  and 
military  bearing  of  Julian,  and  one  or  two  more  em- 
perors of  the  same  breeding,  finally  re-established  itself 
with  undisputed  sway  in  the  Byzantine  court. 

Meantime  the  institutions  of  Dioclesia.n,  if  they  had 
destroyed  Rome  and  the  senate  as  influences  upon  the 
course  of  public  affairs,  and  if  they  had  destroyed  the 
Roman  features  of  the  Caesars,  do,  notwithstanding, 
appear  to  have  attained  one  of  their  purposes,  in. 
Limiting  the  extent  of  imperii,  murders,  Travelling 
through  the  brief  list  of  the  remaining  Ca^sfirs,  we 
perceive  a  little  more  sccurit}-  for  life ;  and  hence  the 
luccessions   are  less   rapid.      Constantine,    who    (lik« 


254  THE    C.^SARS. 

Aarun's  rod)  Lad  swallowed  up  all  his  competitora 
teriatim,  left  the  empire  to  his  three  sons  ;  and  the 
last  of  these  most  unwillingly  to  Julian.  That  prince's 
Persian  expedition,  so  much  resembling  in  rashness 
and  presumption  the  Russian  campaign  of  Napoleon, 
though  so  much  below  it  in  the  scale  of  its  tragic 
results,  led  to  the  short  reign  of  Jovian  (or  Jovinian), 
which  las.ed  only  seven  months.  Upon  his  death 
succeeded  the  house  of  Valentinian,"'^  in  whose  de- 
scendant, of  the  third  generation,  the  empire,  properly 
speaking,  i^expired.  For  the  seven  shadows  who  suc- 
ceeded, from  Avitus  and  Majorian  to  Julius  Nepos  and 
Romulus  Augustulus,  were  in  no  proper  sense  Roman 
emperors,  —  they  were  not  even  emperors  of  the  West, 
—  but  had  a  limited  kingdom  in  the  Italian  peninsula. 
Valentiniaa  the  Third  was,  as  we  have  said,  the  last 
emperor  of  the  West. 

But,  in  a  fuller  and  ampler  sense,  recurring  to  what 
we  have  said  of  Dioclesian  and  the  tenor  of  his  great 
revolutions,  we  may  affirm  that  Probus  and  Carus  were 
the  final  representatives  of  the  majesty  of  Rome:  for 
they  reigned  over  the  whole  empire,  not  yet  incapable 
of  sustaining  its  own  unity ;  and  in  them  were  still 
preserved,  not  yet  obliterated  by  oriental  effeminacy, 
those  majestic  features  which  reflected  republican 
consuls,  and,  through  them,  the  senate  and  people  of 
Eome.  That,  which  had  offended  Dioclesian  in  the 
condition  of  the  Roman  emperors,  was  the   grandes 


THE    C£SARS.  25i 

feature  of  their  dignity.  It  is  true  that  the  peril  of 
the  office  had  become  iLtolerable ;  each  Caesar  sub- 
mitted to  his  sad  inauguration  with  a  certainty,  liable 
even  to  hardly  any  disguise  from  the  delusions  of 
youthful  hope,  that  for  him,  within  the  boundless  em- 
pire which  he  governed,  there  was  no  coast  of  safety, 
no  shelter  from  the  storm,  no  retreat,  except  the  grave, 
from  the  dagger  of  the  assassin.  Gibbon  has  described 
the  hopeless  condition  of  one  who  should  attempt  to 
fly  from  the  wrath  of  the  almost  omnipresent  emperor. 
But  this  dire  impossibility  of  escape  was  in  the  end 
dreadfully  retaliated  upon  the  emperor ;  persecutors 
and  traitors  were  found  everywhere :  and  the  vindic- 
tive or  the  ambitious  subject  found  himself  as  omni- 
present as  the  jealous  or  the  offended  emperor. 

The  crown  of  the  Caesars  was  therefore  a  crown  of 
thoma;  and  it  must  be  admitted,  that  never  in  this 
ivorld  have  rank  and  power  been  purchased  at  so 
awful  a  cost  in  tranquillity  and  peace  of  mind.  The 
steps  of  Caesar's  throne  were  absolutely  saturated  with 
the  blood  of  those  who  had  possessed  it :  and  so  in- 
exorable was  that  murderous  fate  which  overhung  that 
iloomy  eminence,  that  at  length  it  demanded  the  spirit 
L  f  martyrdom  in  him  who  ventured  to  ascend  it.  In 
tliese  circumstances,  some  change  was  imperatively 
demanded.  Human  nature  was  no  longer  equal  to 
the  terrors  which  it  was  summoned  to  face.  But  the 
ehanges  of  Dioclesian  transmuted   that  golden  sceptre 


256  THE    C^SARS. 

into  a  base  oriental  alley.  They  left  nothing  behind 
of  what  had  so  much  challenged  the  veneration  of 
man :  for  it  was  in  the  union  of  republican  simplicity 
with  the  irresponsibility  of  illimitable  power  —  it  wai 
in  the  antagonism  between  the. merely  human  and  ap- 
proachable condition  of  Caesar  as  a  man,  and  his  divine 
supremacy  as  a  potentate  and  king  of  kings  —  that 
the  secret  lay  of  his  unrivalled  grandeur.  This  per- 
ished utterly  under  the  reforming  hands  of  Dioclesian. 
Caesar  only  it  was  that  could  be  permitted  to  extinguish 
Caesar :  and  a  Roman  imperator  it  was  who,  by  re- 
modelling, did  in  aflfect  abolish,  by  exorcising  from  its 
foul  terrors,  did  in  eflfect  disenchant  of  its  sanctity,  that 
imperatorial  dignity,  which  having  once  perished,  could 
have  no  second  existence,  and  which  was  undoubtedly 
the  sublimest  incarnation  of  power,  and  a  monument 
the  mightiest  of  greatness  built  by  human  hands,  which 
upon  this  planet  has  been  suffered  to  appear. 


CICERO. 

In  drawing  attention  to  a  great  question  of  whatso- 
ever nature  connected  with  Cicero,  there  is  no  clanger 
of  missing  our  purpose  through  any  want  of  reputed 
interest  in  the  subject.  Nominally,  it  is  not  easy  to 
assign  a  period  more  eventful,  a  revolution  more 
important,  or  a  personal  career  more  dramatic,  than 
that  period  —  that  revolution  —  that  career  —  which 
with  almost  equal  right,  we  may  describe  as  all  essen- 
tially Ciceronian,  by  the  quality  of  the  interest  which 
they  excite.  For  the  age,  it  was  fruitful  in  great 
men ;  bat  amongst  them  all,  if  we  except  the  sublime 
Julian  leader,  none  as  regards  splendor  of  endow- 
ments stood  upon  the  same  level  as  Cicero.  For  tho 
revolution,  it  was  that  unique  event  which  brought 
ancient  civilization  into  contact  and  commerce  with 
modern ;  since  if  we  figure  the  two  worlds  of  Pagan- 
ism and  Christianity  under  the  idea  of  two  great 
continents,  it  is  through  the  isthmus  of  Rome  impe- 
rialized  that  the  one  was  virtually  communicated  with 
the  other.  Civil  law  and  Christianity,  the  two  central 
forces  of  modern  civilization,  were  upon  that  isthmus 
of  time  ripened  into  potent  establishments.  And 
through  those  two  establishments,  combined  with  the 
antique    literature,    as    through    so    many    organs    of 


258  CICERO. 

tnctempsychosis,  did  the  pagan  world  pass  onwards, 
whatever  portion  of  its  own  life  was  fitted  for  sur- 
viving its  own  peculiar  forms.  Yet.  in  a  revolution 
thus  unexampled  for  grandeur  of  results,  the  only 
great  actor  who  stood  upon  the  authority  of  ni?  char- 
acter was  Cicero.  All  others,  from  Pompey,  Curio, 
Domitius,  Cato,  down  to  lue  final  partisans  at  j^ctium, 
moved  by  the  authority  of  arms  ;  '  tantum  auctoHtata 
valebant,  quantum  milite : '  and  they  could  have 
moved  by  no  other.  Lastly,  as  regards  the  persona, 
biography,  although  the  same  series  of  trials,  perils, 
and  calamities,  would  have  been  in  any  case  inter- 
esting- for  themselves,  yet  undeniably  they  derive  a 
separate  power  of  afiecting  the  mind  from  the  peculiar 
merits  of  the  individual  concerned.  Cicero  is  one  of 
the  very  few  pagan  statesmen  who  can  be  described  as 
a  thoughtfully  conscientious  man. 

It  is  not,  therefore,  any  want  of  splendid  attraction 
in  our  subject  from  which  we  are  likely  to  suff'er.  It 
is  of  this  very  splendor  that  we  complain,  as  having 
long  ago  defeated  the  simplicities  of  truth,  and  pre- 
occupied the  minds  of  all  readers  with  ideas  politi- 
cally romantic.  All  tutors,  schoolmasters,  academic 
authorities,  together  with  the  collective  corps  of  edi- 
tors, critics,  commentators,  have  a  natural  bias  in 
behalf  of  a  literary  man,  who  did  so  much  honor  to 
literature,  and  who,  in  all  the  storms  of  this  diflicult 
life,  manifested  so  much  attachment  to  the  pure  lit- 
erary interest.  Readers  of  sensibility  acknowledge 
the  efiect  from  any  large  influence  of  deep  halcyon 
tepose,  when  relieving  the  agitations  of  history ;  as. 
for  example,  that  which  arises  in  our  domestic  annals 
iom    interposing    bfci,weeu    two    bloody    reigm.    like 


CICERO.  25y 

those  of  Henry  VIII.  and  his  daughter  Mary,  the 
serene  morning  of  a  childlike  king,  destined  to  an 
early  grave,  yet  in  the  meantime  occupied  with 
benign  counsels  for  propagating  religion  or  for  pro- 
tecting the  poor.  Such  a  repose,  the  same  luxury  of 
rest  for  the  mind,  is  felt  by  all  who  traverse  the  great 
circumstantial  records  of  those  tumultuous  Roman 
times,  viz.  the  Ciceronian  epistolary  correspondence. 
Upon  coming  suddenly  into  deep  lulls  of  angry  pas- 
sions —  here,  upon  some  scheme  for  the  extension  of 
literature  by  a  domestic  history,  or  by  a  comparison  of 
Greek  with  Roman  jurisprudence;  there,  again,  upon 
some  ancient  problem  from  the  quiet  fields  of  philoso- 
phy—  literary  men  are  already  prejudiced  in  favor  of 
one  who,  in  the  midst  of  belligerent  partisans,  was 
the  patron  of  intellectual  interest.  But  amongst 
Christian  nations  this  prejudice  has  struck  deeper : 
Cicero  was  not  merely  a  philosopher :  he  was  one 
who  cultivated  ethics  ;  he  was  himself  the  author  of 
an  ethical  system,  composed  with  the  pious  purpose 
of  training  to  what  he  thought  just  moral  views  his 
only  son.  This  system  survives,  is  studied  to  this 
day,  is  honored  perhaps  extravagantly,  and  has  re- 
peatedly been  pronounced  the  best  practical  theory  to 
vh'ch  pagan  principles  were  equal.  Were  it  only 
upon  this  impulse,  it  was  natural  that  men  should 
leceive  a  clinainen,  or  silent  bias,  towards  Cicero,  as 
a  moral  authority  amongst  disputants  whose  argu- 
ments were  legions.  The  author  of  a  moral  code 
cannot  be  supposed  indifferent  to  the  moral  relations 
of  his  own  party  views.  If  he  erred,  it  could  not  be 
through  want  of  meditation  upcn  the  ground  of  judg- 
ment,   or    want    of   in'^crest    in    the    results      So   far 


2C0 


Cicero  has  an  advantage.  But  he  has  more  livelj 
advantage  in  the  comparison  by  which  he  benefits,  at 
toery  stage  of  his  life,  with  antagonists  whom  the 
reader  is  taught  to  believe  dissolute,  incendiary, 
almost  desperate  citizens.  Verres  in  the  youth  of 
Cicero,  Catiline  and  Clodius  in  his  middle  age,  Mark 
A.ntony  in  his  old  age,  have  all  been  left  to  operate 
on  the  modern  reader's  feelings  precisely  through  that 
masquerade  of  misrepresentation  which  invariably  ac- 
companied the  political  eloquence  of  Rome.  The 
monstrous  caricatures  from  the  forum,  or  the  senate, 
or  the  democratic  rostrum,  which  were  so  confessedly 
distortions,  by  original  design,  for  attaining  the  ends 
of  faction,  have  imposed  upon  scholars  pretty  gen- 
erally as  faithful  portraits.  Recluse  scholars  are 
rarely  politicians  ;  and  in  the  timid  horror  of  German 
literati,  at  this  day,  when  they  read  of  real  brickbats 
and  paving-stones,  not  metaphorical,  used  as  figures 
of  speech  by  a  Clodian  mob,  we  British  understand 
the  little  comprehension  of  that  rough  horse-play 
proper  to  the  hustings,  which  can  yet  be  available  for 
the  rectification  of  any  continental  judgment,  *  Play, 
do  you  call  it  ?  '  says  a  German  commentator ;  '  why 
that  brickbat  might  break  a  man's  leg ;  and  this 
paving-stone  would  be  suflicient  to  fracture  a  skull.' 
Too  true :  they  certainly  might  do  so.  But,  for  all 
that,  our  British  experience  of  electioneering  '  rough- 
^nd-tumbling '  has  long  blunted  the  edge  of  our  moral 
anger.  Contested  elections  are  unknown  to  the  conti- 
nent —  hitherto  even  to  those  nat  ons  of  the  continent 
which  boast  of  representative  governments.  And  with 
no  experience  of  their  inconveniences,  they  have  aa 
yet  none  of  the  popular  forces  in  which  sucl  contests 


261 


Dliginate.  "\Vo,  on  the  other  hand,  are  familiar  with 
Buch  scenes.  What  Rome  saw  upon  one  sole  hust- 
ings, Ave  see  repeated  upon  hundreds.  And  we  all 
know  that  the  bark  of  electioneering  mobs  is  worse 
than  their  bite.  Their  fury  is  without  malice,  and 
their  insurrectionary  violence  is  without  system.  Most 
undoubtedly  the  mobs  and  seditions  of  Clodius  are 
entitled  to  the  same  benefits  of  construction.  And 
with  regard  to  the  graver  charges  against  Catiline 
or  Clodius,  as  men  sunk  irredeemably  into  sensual 
debaucheries,  these  are  exaggerations  which  have  told 
only  from  want  of  attention  to  Roman  habits.  Such 
charges  were  the  standing  material,  the  stock  in  trade 
of  every  orator  against  every  antagonist.  Cicero, 
with  the  same  levity  as  every  other  public  speaker, 
tossed  about  such  atrocious  libels  at  random.  And 
with  little  blame  where  there  was  really  no  discretion 
allowed.  Not  are  they  true  ?  but  will  they  tell  ?  was 
the  question.  Insolvency  and  monstrous  debauchery 
were  the  two  ordinary  reproaches  on  the  Roman  hust- 
ings. No  man  escaped  them  who  was  rich  enough, 
or  had  expectations  notorious  enough,  to  win  for  such 
charges  any  colorable  plausibility.  Those  only  were 
unmolested  in  this  way  who  stood  in  no  man's  path 
^i  ambition ;  or  who  had  been  obscure  (that  is  to  say, 
poor)  in  youth ;  or  who,  being  splendid  by  birth  o^ 
c  mnections,  had  been  notoriously  occupied  in  distant 
campaigns.  The  object  in  such  calumnies  was,  to 
oroduce  a  momentary  effect  upon  the  populace  :  and 
sometimes,  as  happened  to  '^oesar,  the  merest  false- 
floods  of  a  partisan  orator  were  adopted  subsequent'? 
for  truths  by  the  simple-minded  soldiery.  But  the 
»ni8appvehension  of  these  libels  in  me  '.em  times  origi 


262 


nates  in  erroneous  appreciation  of  Roman  oiatory 
Scandal  was  its  proper  element.  Senate  or  law- 
tribunal,  forum  or  mob  rostrum,  made  no  difference 
in  the  licentious  practice  of  Roman  eloquence.  And, 
unfortunately,  the  calumnies  survive ;  whilst  the  state 
of  things,  which  made  it  needless  to  notice  tbein  in 
reply,  has  entirely  perished.  During  the  transitional 
period  between  the  old  Roman  frugality  and  the 
luxury  succeeding  to  foreign  conquest,  a  reproach  of 
this  nature  would  have  stung  with  some  severity  ;  and 
it  was  not  without  danger  to  a  candidate.  But  the 
age  of  growing  voluptuousness  weakened  the  effect 
of  such  imputations ;  and  this  age  may  be  taken  to 
have  commenced  in  the  youth  of  the  Gracchi,  about 
one  hundred  years  before  Pharsalia.  The  change  in 
the  direction  of  men's  sensibilities  since  then,  was  as 
marked  as  the  change  in  their  habits..  Both  changes 
had  matured  themselves  in  Cicero's  days ;  and  one 
natural  result  was,  that  few  men  of  sense  valued 
such  reproaches,  (incapable,  from  their  generality,  of 
specific  refutation,)  whether  directed  against  friends 
or  enemies.  Caesar,  when  assailed  for  the  thousandth 
time  by  the  old  fable  about  Nicomedes  the  sovereign 
of  Bithynia,  no  more  troubled  himself  to  expose  its 
falsehood  in  the  senate,  than  when  previously  dis- 
persed over  Rome  through  the  libellous  facetice  of 
Catullus.  He  knew  that  the  object  of  such  petty 
malice  was  simply  to  tease  him  ;  and  for  himself  to 
lose  any  temper,  or  to  manifest  anxiety,  by  a  labor 
110  hopeless  as  any  effort  towards  the  refutation  of  an 
mlimited  scandal,  was  childishly  to  collude  with  his 
enemies.  He  treated  the  story,  therefore,  as  if  i* 
had    been    true ;   and    showed   that,   even   under  tlia* 


CICERO.  2ftJ 

Msumption,  it  would  not  avail  foi  the  purpose  before 
the  house.  Subsequently,  Suetonius,  as  an  express 
collector  of  anecdotage  and  pointed  personalities 
against  great  men,  has  revived  many  of  these  scur- 
rilous jests;  but  his  authority,  at  the  distance  of  two 
generations,  can  add  nothing  to  the  credit  of  calum- 
nies originally  founded  on  plebeian  envy,  or  the 
jealousy  of  rivals.  We  may  possibly  find  ourselves 
obliged  to  come  back  upon  this  subject.  And  at  this 
point,  therefore,  we  will  not  further  pursue  it  than  by 
remarking,  that  no  one  snare  has  proved  so  fatal  to 
the  sound  judgment  of  posterity  upon  public  men  in 
Rome,  as  this  blind  credulity  towards  the  oratorical 
billingsgate  of  ancient  forensic  license,  or  of  nannr^ma 
electioneering.  Libels,  whose  very  point  and  jest  lay 
m  their  extravagance,  have  been  received  for  his- 
torical truth  with  respect  to  many  amongst  Cicero's 
enemies.  And  the  reaction  upon  Cicero's  own  char- 
acter has  been  naturally  to  exaggerate  that  imputed 
purity  of  morals,  which  has  availed  to  raise  him  into 
uhat  is  called  a  '  pattern  man.' 

The  injurious  effect  upon  biographic  literature  of 
all  such  wrenches  to  the  truth,  is  diff'used  everywhere. 
Fenelon,  or  Howard  the  philanthropist,  may  serve  to 
illustrate  the  effect  we  mean,  when  viewed  in  relation 
to  the  stern  simplicity  of  truth.  Both  these  men  have 
long  been  treated  with  such  uniformity  of  dissimulation, 
'  petted  '  (so  to  speak)  with  such  honeyed  falsehoods  as 
beings  too  bright  and  seraphic  for  human  inquisition, 
that  now  their  real  circumstantial  merits,  quite  as  much 
AS  their  human  frailties,  have  faded  away  in  this  blaze 
of  fabling  idolatry.  Sir  Isaac  Newton,  again,  for 
ibout  one  entire  century  since  his  death  in  1727,  was 


2G4  CICERO. 

painted  by  all  biographers  as  a  man  so  saintly  in 
temper  —  so  meek  —  so  detached  from  worldly  interest, 
that  by  mere  strength  of  patent  falsehood,  the  portrait 
had  ceased  to  be  human,  and  a  great  man's  life  fur- 
nished no  interest  to  posterity.  At  length  came  the 
odious  truth,  exhibiting  Sir  Isaac  in  a  character  painful 
to  contemplate,  as  a  fretfiil,  peevish,  and  sometimes 
even  malicious,  intriguer  ;  traits,  however,  in  Sir  Isaac 
already  traceable  in  the  sort  of  chicanery  attending  his 
subornation  of  managers  in  the  Leibnitz  controversy, 
and  the  publication  of  the  Commercium  Epistolicum. 
For  the  present,  the  effect  has  been  purely  to  shock 
and  to  perplex.  As  regards  moral  instruction,  the 
lesson  comes  too  late  ;  it  is  now  defeated  by  its  incon- 
sistency with  our  previous  training  in  steady  theatrical 
delusion. 

We  do  not  make  it  a  reproach  to  Cicero,  that  his 
reputation  with  posterity  has  been  affected  by  these  or 
similar  arts  of  falsification.  Eventually  this  has  been 
his  misfortune.  Adhering  to  the  truth,  his  indiscreet 
eulogists  would  have  presented  to  the  world  a  much 
more  interesting  picture ;  not  so  much  the  representa- 
tion of  '  vir  bonus  cum  mala  fortund  compositus,'  which 
is,  after  all,  an  ordinary  spectacle  for  so  much  of  the 
conflict  as  can  ever  be  made  public  ;  but  that  of  a  man 
generally  upright,  matched  as  in  single  duel  with  a 
Standing  temptation  to  error,  growing  out  of  his  public 
position ;  often  seduced  into  false  principles  by  the 
necessities  of  ambition,  or  by  the  coercion  of  self-con- 
sistency ;  and  often,  as  he  himself  admits,  biased 
finally  in  a  public  question  by  the  partialities  of  friend- 
ship. The  violence  of  that  crisis  was  overwhelming 
to  all  moral  sensibilities ;  no  sense,  no  organ,  remaineof 


265 


true  to  the  obligations  of  political  justice  ;  principles 
and  feelings  were  alike  darkened  by  the  extremities  of 
the  political  quarrel ;  the  feelings  obeyed  the  personal 
engagements  ;  and  the  principles  indicated  only  the 
position  of  the  individual  —  as  between  the  senate 
Btruggling  for  interests  and  the  democracy  struggling 
for  rights.  • 

So  far  nothing  has  happened  to  Cicero  which  does 
not  happen  to  all  men  entangled  in  political  feuds. 
There  are  few  cases  of  large  party  dispute  which  do 
not  admit  of  contradictory  delineations,  as  the  mind  is 
previously  swayed  to  this  extreme  or  to  that.  But  the 
peculiarity  in  the  case  of  Cicero  is  —  not  that  he  has 
benefited  by  the  mixed  quality  or  the  doubtfulness  of 
that  cause  which  he  adopted,  but  that  the  very  dubious 
character  of  the  cause  has  benefited  by  him.  Usually 
it  happens,  that  the  individual  partisan  is  sheltered 
under  the  authority  of  his  cause.  But  here  the  whole 
merits  of  the  cause  have  been  predetermined  and  ad- 
judged  by  the  authority  of  the  partisan.  Had  Cicero 
been  absent,  or  had  Cicero  practised  that  neutrality  to 
which  he  often  inclined,  the  general  verdict  of  posterity 
on  the  great  Roman  civil  war  would  have  been  essen- 
tially different  from  that  which  we  find  in  history.  Ai 
present  the  error  is  an  extreme  one  ;  and  we  call  it 
such  without  hesitation,  because  it  has  maintained 
itself  by  imperfect  reading,  even  of  such  documents  as 
survive,  and  by  too  general  an  oblivion  of  the  impor- 
tant fact,  that  these  surviving  documents  (meaning  the 
y'onirm.'porary  documents)  are  pre  ty  nearly  all  ex 
porte.''^ 

To  j'ldge  of  the  general  equity  in  the  treatment  of 
Uieero,  considered  as  a  political  partisan,  let  us  turn  U 


266 


the  most  current  of  the  regular  biographies.  Amongst 
the  infinity  of  slighter  sketches,  which  naturally  draw 
for  their  materials  upon  those  which  are  most  elaborate, 
it  would  be  useless  to  confer  a  special  notice  upon  any. 
We  will  cite  the  two  which  at  this  moment  stand  fore- 
most in  European  literature  —  that  of  Conyers  Middle- 
ton,  now  about  one  century  old,  as  the  memoir  most 
generally  read  ;  that  of  Bernhardt  Abeken,'^'*  (amongst 
that  limited  class  of  memoirs  which  build  upon  any 
political  principles,)  accidentally  the  latest. 

Conyers  Middleton  is  a  name  that  cannot  be  men- 
tioned without  an  expression  of  disgust.  We  sit  down 
in  perfect  charity,  at  the  same  table,  with  sceptics  in 
every  degree.  To  us,  simply  in  his  social  character, 
and  supposing  him  sincere,  a  sceptic  is  as  agreeable 
as  another.  Anyhow  he  is  better  than  a  craniologist, 
than  a  punster,  than  a  St.  Simonian,  than  a  Jeremy- 
Bentham-cock,  or  an  anti-corn-law  lecturer.  What 
signifies  a  name  ?  Free-thinker  he  calls  himself?  Good 
—  let  him  '  free  think  '  as  fast  as  he  can  ;  but  let  him 
jbey  the  ordinary  laws  of  good  faith.  No  sneering 
in  the  first  place,  because,  though  it  is  untrue  that  '  a 
sneer  cannot  be  answered,'  the  answer  too  often  im- 
y  poses  circumlocution.  And  upon  a  subject  which 
•  makes  -wise  men  grave,  a  sneer  argues  so  much  pei- 
version  of  heart,  that  it  cannot  be  thought  uncandid  to 
infer  some  corresponding  perversion  of  intellect.  Per- 
-  feet  sincerity  never  existed  in  a  professional  siieerer ; 
jecondly,  no  treachery,  no  betrayal  of  the  cause  which 
the  man  is  sworn  and  paid  to  support.  Conyers  Mid« 
dleton  held  considerable  preferment  in  the  church  of 
England.  Long  after  he  had  become  an  enemy  to 
that  church,  (not  separately  for  itself,  but  generally  a« 


CICERO.  267 

a  strong  form  of  Christianity,)  he  continued  to  receivo 
large  quarterly  cheques  upon  a  bank  in  Lombard- street, 
of  which  the  original  condition  had  been  that  he  should 
defend  Christianity  '  with  all  his  soul  and  with  all  his 
Btrength.'  Yet  such  was  his  perfidy  to  this  sacred 
engagement,  that  even  his  private  or  personal  feuds 
grew  out  of  his  capital  feud  with  the  Christian  faith. 
From  the  church  he  drew  his  bread  ;  and  the  labor  of 
his  life  was  to  bring  the  church  into  contempt.  He 
hated  Bentley,  he  hated  Warburton,  he  hated  Water- 
land  ;  and  why  ?  all  alike  as  powerful  champions  of 
that  religion  which  he  himself  daily  betrayed  ;  and 
Waterland,  as  the  strongest  of  these  champions,  he 
hated  most.  But  all  these  bye-currents  of  malignity 
emptied  themselves  into  one  vast  cloaca  maxima  of 
rancorous  animosity  to  the  mere  spirit,  temper,  and 
tendencies,  of  Christianity.  Even  in  treason  there  is 
room  for  courage  ;  but  Middleton,  in  the  manner,  was 
as  cowardly  as  he  was  treacherous  in  the  matter.  He 
wished  to  have  it  whispered  about  that  he  was  worse 
than  he  seemed,  and  that  he  would  be  a  fort  esprit  of 
a  high  cast,  but  for  the  bigotry  of  his  church.  It  was 
i.  fine  thing,  he  fancied,  to  have  the  credit  of  infidelity, 
without  paying  for  a  license ;  to  sport  over  those 
manors  without  a  qualification.  As  a  scholar,  mean- 
time, he  was  trivial  and  incapable  of  labor.  Even  tho 
Roman  antiquities,  political  or  juristic,  he  had  studied 
neither  by  research  and  erudition,  nor  by  meditation 
on  their  value  and  analogies.  Lastly,  his  English 
ityle,  for  which  at  one  time  he  obtained  some  credit 
chrough  the  caprice  of  a  fashionable  critic,  is  such^ 
that  by  weeding  away  from  it  whatever  is  colloquial, 
<ou  would  strip  it  of  all  tnat  is  characteristic  :  remov- 


its  CICEKO. 

ing   its   idiomatic   vulgarisms,  you  would   remove    its 
principle  of  animation. 

That  man  misapprehends  the  case,  who  fanciei 
that  the  infidelity  of  Middleton  can  have  but  a  limited 
operation  upon  a  memoir  of  Cicero.  On  the  contrary, 
because  this  prepossession  was  rather  a  passion  of 
hati'ed**  than  any  aversion  of  the  intellect,  it  operated 
as  a  false  bias  universally ;  and  in  default  of  any  suffi- 
cient analogy  between  Roman  politics,  and  the  politics 
of  England  at  Middleton's  time  of  publication,  there 
was  no  other  popular  bias  derived  from  modern  ages, 
which  could  have  been  available.  It  was  the  object  of 
Middleton  to  paint,  in  the  person  of  Cicero,  a  pure 
Pagan  model  of  scrupulous  morality  ;  and  to  show 
that,  in  most  difficult  times,  he  had  acted  with  a  self- 
restraint  and  a  considerate  integrity,  to  which  Christian 
ethics  could  have  added  no  element  of  value.  Now 
this  object  had  the  effect  of,  already  in  the  preconcep- 
tion, laying  a  restraint  over  all  freedom  in  the  execu- 
tion. No  man  could  start  from  the  assumption  of 
Cicero's  uniform  uprightness,  and  afterwards  retain 
any  latitude  of  free  judgment  upon  the  most  mcnien- 
tous  transaction  of  Cicero's  life  :  because,  unlesr  some 
plausible  hypothesis  could  be  framed  for  giving  body 
and  consistency  to  the  pretences  of  the  Pompean 
cause,  it  must,  upon  any  examination,  turn  out  to  have 
been  as  merely  a  selfish  cabal,  for  the  benefit  of  a  few 
ordly  families,  as  ever  yet  has  prompted  a  conspiracy. 
The  slang  words  '  respublica  '  and  '  causa,'  are  caught 
up  by  Middleton  from  the  letters  of  Cicero  ;  but  never, 
m  any  one  instance,  has  either  Cicero  or  a  modern 
commentator,  been  able  to  explain  what  general  inter 
est   of  the  Roman  people  was  represented    by    thesa 


ciCEBO.  269 

rague  abstractions.  The  strife,  at  that  era,  was  not 
between  the  conservative  instinct  as  organiiLed  in  tbfl 
upper  classes,  and  the  destroying  instinct  as  concen- 
trated in  the  lowest.  The  strife  was  not  between  the 
property  of  the  nation  and  its  rapacious  pauperism  — 
the  strife  was  not  between  the  honors,  titles,  institu- 
tions, created  by  the  state  and  the  plebeian  malice  of 
levellers,  seeking  for  a  commencement  de  novo,  with 
the  benefits  of  a  general  scramble  —  it  was  a  strife 
between  a  small  faction  of  confederated  oligarchs 
upon  the  one  hand,  and  the  nation  upon  the  other. 
Or,  looking  still  more  narrowly  into  the  nature  of  the 
separate  purposes  at  issue,  it  was,  on  the  Julian  side, 
an  attempt  to  make  such  a  re-distribution  of  constitu- 
tional functions,  as  should  harmonize  the  necessities 
of  the  public  service  with  the  working  of  the  republi- 
can machinery.  Whereas,  under  the  existing  condi- 
tion of  Rome,  through  the  sUent  changes  of  time, 
operating  upon  the  relations  of  property  and  upon  the 
character  of  the  populace,  it  had  been  long  evident 
that  armed  supporters  —  now  legionary  soldiers,  now 
gladiators  —  enormous  bribery,  and  the  constant  re- 
serve of  anarchy  in  the  rear,  were  become  the  regular 
counters  for  conducting  the  desperate  game  of  the 
more  ordinary  civil  administration.  Not  the  dema- 
gogue only,  but  the  peaceful  or  patriotic  citizen,  and 
the  constitutional  magistrate,  could  now  move  and 
exercise  their  public  functions  only  through  the  dead- 
liest combinations  of  violence  and  fraud.  Thia  dread- 
*ul  condition  of  things,  which  no  longer  acted  through 
that  salutary  opposition  of  parties,  essential  to  the 
tnergy  of  free  countries,  but  involved  all  Rome  in  a 
pcnnanent   panic,  was   acceptable  to   the  senate  only- 


270  CICEKO. 

and  of  the  senate,  in  sincerity,  to  a  very  small  se(  ti<jn 
Some  score  of  great  houses  there .  was,  that  by  vigi- 
lance of  intrigues,  by  far-sighted  arrangements  foi 
armed  force  or  for  critical  retreat,  and  by  overwhelm- 
ing command  of  money,  could  always  guarantee  their 
own  domination.  For  this  purpose,  all  that  they 
needed  was  a  secret  understanding  with  each  other, 
and  the  interchange  of  mutual  pledges  by  means  of 
marriage  alliances.  Any  revolution  which  should  put 
an  end  to  this  anarchy  of  selfishness,  must  reduce  the 
exorbitant  power  of  the  paramount  grandees.  They 
naturally  confederated  against  a  result  so  shocking  to 
their  pride.  Cicero,  as  a  new  member  of  this  faction, 
himself  rich**^  in  a  degree  sufficient  for  the  indefinite 
aggrandizement  of  his  son,  and  sure  of  support  from 
all  the  interior  cabal  of  the  senators,  had  adopted  their 
selfish  sympathies.  And  it  is  probable  enough  that 
all  changes  in  a  system  which  worked  so  well  for 
himself,  to  which  also  he  had  always  looked  up  from 
his  youngest  days  as  the  reward  and  haven  of  his 
toils,  did  seriously  strike  him  as  dreadful  innovations. 
Names  were  now  to  be  altered  for  the  sake  of  things  ; 
forms  for  the  sake  of  substances :  this  already  gave 
some  verbal  ])ower  of  delusion  to  the  senatorial  faction. 
And  a  prospect  still  more  startling  to  them  all,  waa 
the  necessity  towards  any  restoration  of  the  old  re- 
public, that  some  one  eminent  grandee  should  hold 
provisionally  a  dictatorial  power  during  the  period  of 
transition. 

Abeken  —  and  it  is  honorable  to  him  as  a  scholar 
of  a  section  not  conversant  with  politics  —  saw  enougli 
into  the  situation  of  Rome  at  that  time,  to  be  sure  thai 
Cicero  was  profoundly  in  error  upon   the  capital  poin 


271 


of  the  dispute  ;  that  is,  in  mistaking  a  cabal  for  the 
commonwealth,  and  the  narrowest  of  intrigues  for  a 
public  '  cause.'  Abeken,  like  an  honest  man,  had 
sought  for  any  national  interest  cloaked  by  the  wordy 
pretences  of  Pompey,  and  he  bad  found  none.  He 
had  seen  the  necessity  towards  any  regeneration  of 
Rome,  that  Caesar,  or  some  leader  pursuing  the  same 
objects,  should  be  armed  for  a  time  with  extraordinary 
power.  In  that  way  only  had  both  Marius  and  Sylla 
each  in  the  same  general  circumstances,  though  with 
different  feelings,  been  enabled  to  preserve  Rome 
from  total  anarchy.  We  give  Abeken's  express  words 
that  we  may  not  seem  to  tax  him  with  any  responsi- 
bility beyond  what  he  courted.  At  p.  342,  (8th  sect.) 
he  owns  it  as  a  rule  of  the  sole  conservative  policy 
possible  for  Rome  :  — '  Dass  Caesar  der  einzige  war, 
der  ohne  weitere  stuerme,  Rom  zu  dem  ziele  zu  fueh- 
ren  vermochte,  welchem  es  seit  einem  jahrhundert 
sich  zuwendete  ; '  that  Caesar  was  the  sole  man  who 
had  it  in  his  power,  without  further  convulsions,  to 
lead  Rome  onwards  to  that  final  mark,  towards  which, 
in  tendency,  she  had  been  travelling  throughout  one 
whole  century.  Neither  oould  it  be  of  much  conse- 
quence whether  Caesar  should  personally  find  it  safe 
to  imitate  the  example  of  Sylla  in  laying  down  his 
kuthority,  provided  he  so  matured  the  safeguards  of  the 
reformed  constitution,  that,  on  the  withdrawal  of  this 
temporary  scafi'olding,  the  great  arch  was  found  ca- 
llable of  self-support.  Thus  far,  as  an  ingenious 
student  of  Cicero's  correspondence,  Abeken  gains  « 
Iflimpse  of  the  truth  which  has  been  so  constantly  ob^ 
loured  by  historians,  but,  with  the  natural  incapacity 
•or  practical  politics  which  besieges   all  Germans,  h» 


fails  in  most  of  the  subordinate  cases  to  decipher  the 
intrigues  at  work,  and  ofttimes  finds  special  palliation 
for  Cicero's  conduct,  where,  in  reality,  it  was  but  a 
reiteration  of  that  selfish  policy  in  which  he  had  united 
himself  with  Pompey. 

By  way  of  slightly  reviewing  this  policy,  as  it  ex- 
pressed itself  in  the  acts  or  opinions  of  Pcmpey,  we 
will  pursue  it  through  the  chief  stages  of  the  con- 
tost.  Where  was  it  that  Cicero  first  heard  the  appalling 
news  of  a  civil  war  inevitable  ?  It  was  at  Ephesus  ; 
at  the  moment  of  reaching  that  city  on  his  return 
homewards  from  his  proconsular  government  in 
Cilicia,  and  the  circumstances  of  his  position  were 
these.  On  the  last  day  of  July,  703,  Ab  Urb.  Cond., 
Ke  had  formally  entered  on  that  office.  On  the  last 
day  but  one  of  the  same  month  in  704,  he  laid  it 
down.  The  conduct  of  Cicero  in  this  command  was 
meritorious.  And,  if  our  purpose  had  been  generally 
to  examine  his  merits,  we  could  show  cause  for  making 
a  higher  estimate  of  those  merits  than  has  been  offered 
by  his  professional  eulogists.  The  circumstances, 
however,  in  the  opposite  scale,  ought  not  to  be  over- 
looked. He  knew  himself  to  be  under  a  jealous  super- 
vision from  the  friends  of  Verres,  or  all  who  might 
have  the  same  interest.  This  is  one  of  the  two  facts 
which  may  be  pleaded  in  abatement  of  his  disinter- 
ested merit.  The  other  is,  that,  after  all,  he  did 
undeniably  pocket  a  large  sum  of  money  (more  thai, 
twenty  thousand  pounds)  upon  his  year's  administra- 
4on  ;  whilst,  on  the  other  hand,  the  utmost  extent  o' 
that  sum  by  which  he  refused  to  profit  was  not  large 
This  at  least  we  are  entitled  to  say  with  regard  to  tne 
only  specific  sum  brought  under  our  notice,  as  cerlainl^ 
Hwaitins  his  nrivate  disnosal. 


CICEKO.  27o 

Here  occurs  a  very  important  error  of  Middlctoii's. 
The  question  of  money  very  much  will  turn  upon  the 
specific  amount.  An  abstinence  which  is  exemplary 
may  be  shown  in  resisting  an  enormous  gain  ;  Avhereas 
under  a  slight  temptation  the  abstinence  may  be  little 
or  none.  Middleton  makes  the  extravagant,  almost 
maniacal,  assertion,  that  the  sum  available  by  custom 
as  a  perquisite  to  Cicero's  suite  was  '  eight  hundred 
thousand  pounds  sterling.'  Not  long  after  the  period 
in  which  Middleton  wrote,  newspapers  and  the  in- 
creased facilities  for  travelling  in  England,  had  begun 
to  operate  powerfully  upon  the  character  of  our  Eng- 
lish universities.  Rectors  and  students,  childishly 
ignorant  of  the  world,  (such  as  Parson  Adams  and  the 
Vicar  of  Wakefield,)  became  a  rare  class.  Possibly 
Middleton  was  the  last  clergyman  of  that  order ; 
though,  in  any  good  sense,  having  little  enough  of 
guileless  simplicity.  In  our  own  experience  we  have 
met  wth  but  one  similar  case  of  heroic  ignorance. 
This  occurred  near  Caernarvon.  A  poor  Welsh  woman, 
leaving  home  to  attend  an  annual  meeting  of  the  Meth- 
odists, replied  to  us  who  had  questioned  her  as  to  the 
numerical  amount  of  members  likely  to  assemble  ?  — 
'  That  perhaps  there  -would  be  a  matter  of  four  mil- 
lions ! '  This  in  little  Caernarvon,  that  by  no  possi- 
bility could  accommodate  as  many  thousands  !  Yet,  in 
iustiie  to  the  poor  cottager,  it  should  be  said  that 
she  spoke  doubtingly,  and  with  an  anxious  look, 
whereas  Middleton  announces  this  little  bonus  of  eight 
hundred  thousand  pounds  with  a  glib  fluency  that  de- 
monstrates him  to  have  seen  nothing  in  the  amount 
worth  a  comment.  Let  the  reader  take  with  nim  these 
little  adjuncts  of  the  case.     First  of  all,  the  m(  ney 

18 


274  CICERO. 

was  a  mere  surplus  arising  on  the  public  expendihire, 
and  resigned  in  any  case  to  the  suite  of  the  governor, 
only  under  the  presumption  that  it  must  be  too  trivial 
to  call  for  any  more  deliberate  appropriation.  Sec- 
ondly, it  was  the  surplus  of  a  single  year's  expcndi- 
ture.  Thirdly,  the  province  itself  was  chiefly  Grecian 
in  the  composition  of  its  population  ;  that  is,  poor,  in 
a  degree  not  understood  by  most  Englishmen,  frugally 
penurious  in  "its  habits.  Fourthly,  the  public  service 
was  of  the  very  simplest  nature.  The  administration 
of  justice,  and  the  military  application  of  about  eight 
thousand  regular  troops  to  the  local  seditions  of  the 
Isaurian  freebooters,  or  to  the  occasional  sallies  from 
the  Parthian  frontier  —  these  functions  of  the  procon- 
sul summed  up  his  public  duties.  To  us  the  marvel 
is,  how  there  could  arise  a  surplus  even  equal  to  eight 
thousand  pounds,  which  some  copies  countenance. 
.  Eight  pounds  we  should  have  surmised.  But  to  justify 
Middleton,  he  ought  to  have  found  in  the  text  '  millies  ' 
—  a  reading  which  exists  nowhere.  Figures,  in  such 
cases,  are  always  so  suspicious  as  scarcely  to  warrant 
more  than  a  slight  bias  to  the  sense  which  they  estab- 
lish :  and  words  are  little  better,  since  they  may 
always  have  been  derived  from  a  previous  authority 
in  figures.  Meantime,  simply  as  a  blunder  in  accurate 
scholarship,  we  should  think  it  unfair  to  have  pressed 
it.  But  it  is  in  the  light  of  an  evidence  against  Mid- 
dleton's  good  sense  and  thoughtfulness  that  we  regaro 
it  as  capital.  The  man  who  could  believe  that  a  sum 
not  far  from  a  million  sterling  had  arisen  in  the  course 
of  twelve  months,  as  a  little  bagatelle  of  office,  a  pot- 
ie-viriy  mere  customary  fees,  payable  to  the  discretionaj 
lUotment  of  one  who  held  the  most  fleeting  relation  to 


ciCEEO.  275 

the  province,  is  not  entitled  to  an  opinion  upon  any 
question  of  doubtful  tenor.  Had  this  been  the  scale 
of  regular  profits  upon  a  poor  province,  why  should 
any  Verres  create  risk  for  himself  by  an  arbitrary 
scale  ? 

In  cases,  therefore,  where  the  merit  turns  upon 
money,  unavoidably  the  ultimate  question  will  turn 
upon  the  amount.  And  the  very  terms  of  the  transac- 
tion, as  they  are  reported  by  Cicero,  indicating  that 
the  sum  ■w^as  entirely  at  his  own  disposal,  argue  its 
trivial  value.  Another  argument  implies  the  same 
construction.  Former  magistrates,  most  of  whom  took 
such  offices  with  an  express  view  to  the  creation  of  a 
fortune  by  embezzlement  and  by  bribes,  had  estab- 
lished the  precedent  of  relinquishing  this  surplus  to 
their  official  '  family.'  This  fact  of  itself  shows  that 
the  amount  must  have  been  uniformly  trifling :  being 
at  all  subject  to  fluctuations  in  the  amount,  most  cer- 
tainly it  would  have  been  made  to  depend  for  its 
appropriation  upon  the  separate  merits  of  each  annual 
case  as  it  came  to  be  known.  In  this  particular  case, 
Cicero's  suite  grumbled  a  little  at  his  decision  :  he 
ordered  that  the  money  should  be  carried  to  the  credit 
of  the  public.  But,  had  a  sum  so  vast  as  Middleton's 
been  disposable  in  mere  perquisites,  proh  deum  atqve 
hominum  Jidem  !  the  honorable  gentlemen  of  the  suite 
would  have  taken  unpleasant  liberties  with  the  procon- 
sular throat.  They  would  have  been  entitled  to  divide 
on  the  average  forty  thousand  pounds  a  man  :  end  they 
would  have  married  into  sena.orian  houses.  Because 
%  score  or  so  of  monstrous  fortunes  existed  in  Home, 
we  must  not  forget  that  in  any  age  of  the  Republic  a 
gum  of  twenty-five  thousand  pounds  would  have  cod« 


276  ciCEKo. 

Btituted  a  most  respectable  fortune  for  a  man  not 
embarked  upon  a  public  career  ;  and  with  sufficient 
connections  it  would  furnish  the  early  cosjts  even  foi 
Buch  a  career. 

We  have  noticed  this  affair  with  some  minuteness, 
both  from  its  importance  to  the  accuser  of  Verres,  and 
because  we  shall  here  have  occasion  to  insist  on  this 
very  case,  as  amongst  those  which  illustrate  the  call 
for  political  revolution  at  Rome.  Returning  from 
Cicero  the  governor  to  Cicero  the  man,  we  may  re- 
mark, that,  although  his  whole  life  had  been  adapted 
to  purposes  of  ostentation,  and  a  fortiori  this  particu- 
lar provincial  interlude  was  sure  to  challenge  from  his 
enemies  a  vindictive  scrutiny,  still  we  find  cause  to 
think  Cicero  very  sincere  in  his  purity  as  a  magistrate - 
Many  of  his  acts  were  not  mere  showy  renunciations 
of  doubtful  privileges ;  but  were  connected  with  pain- 
ful circumstances  of  offence  to  intimate  friends.  In- 
directly we  may  find  in  these  cases  a  pretty  ample 
violation  of  the  Roman  morals.  Pretended  philoso- 
phers in  Rome  who  prated  in  set  books  about  '  virtue  ' 
and  the  '  summum  bonum,'  made  no  scruple,  in  the 
character  of  magistrates,  to  pursue  the  most  extensive 
plans  of  extortion,  through  the  worst  abvises  of  military 
license  ;  some,  as  the  '  virtuous '  Marcus  Brutus,  not 
stopping  short  of  murder — a  foul  case  of  this  descrip- 
tion had  occurred  in  the  previous  year  under  the  sanc- 
tion of  Brutus,  and  Cicero  had  to  stand  his  friend  ia 
nobly  refusing  to  abet  the  further  prosecution  of  the 
very  same  atrocity.  Even  in  the  case  of  the  perqiii* 
Bites,  as  stated  above,  Cicero  had  a  more  painful  duty 
than  that  of  merely  sacrificing  a  small  sum  of  money  • 
he  was   summoned  by  his   conscience  to   offend  those 


cicEEo.  277 

men  with  whom  he  lived,  as  a  modern  prince  oi 
ambassador  lives  amongst  the  members  of  his  official 
'  family.'  Naturally  it  could  be  no  trifle  to  a  gentle- 
hearted  man,  that  he  was  creating  for  himself  a  neces- 
Bity  of  encountering  frowns  from  those  who  surrounded 
him,  and  who  might  think,  with  some  reason,  that  in 
bringing  them  to  a  distant  land,  he  had  authorized 
Ihem  to  look  for  all  such  remunerations  as  precedent 
had  established.  Right  or  wrong  in  the  casuistical 
point  —  we  believe  him  to  have  been  wrong  —  Cicero 
was  eminently  right  w'hen  once  satisfied  by  arguments, 
sound  or  not  sound  as  to  the  point  of  duty,  in  pursuing 
that  duty  through  all  the  vexations  which  it  entailed. 
This  justice  we  owe  him  pointedly  in  a  review  which 
has  for  its  general  object  the  condemnation  of  his 
political  conduct. 

Never  was  a  child,  torn  from  its  mother's  arms  to 
an  odious  school,  more  homesick  at  this  moment  than 
was  Cicero.  He  languished  for  Rome  ;  and  when  he 
stood  before  the  gates  of  Rome,  about  five  months 
later,  not  at  liberty  to  enter  them,  he  sighed  profound- 
ly after  the  vanished  peace  of  mind  which  he  had 
enjoyed  in  his  wild  mountainous  province.  '  Quaefivit 
lucem  —  ingemuitque  repertam.'  Vainly  he  flattered 
himself  that  he  could  compose,  by  his  single  mediation. 
the  mighty  conflict  which  had  now  opened.  As  he 
pursued  his  voyage  homewards,  through  the  months 
of  August,  September,  October,  and  November,  he 
wfcs  met,  at  every  port  where  he  touched  for  a  few 
days'  repose,  by  reports,  more  and  more  gloomy,  of 
*he  impending  rupture  between  the  great  partisan 
leaders.  These  reports  ran  along,  like  the  undulations 
of  an    earthquake,    to   the   last  recesses  of  the  east 


278  cicEKo. 

Every  king  and  every  people  had  been  canvassed  foi 
the  coming  conflict ;  and  many  had  been  already  associ- 
ated by  pledges  to  the  one  side  or  the  other.  The  fancy 
faded  away  from  Cicero's  thoughts  as  he  drew  nearei 
CO  Italy,  that  any  effect  could  now  be  anticipated  for 
mediatorial  counsels.  The  controversy,  indeed,  was 
still  pursued  through  diplomacy ;  and  the  negotiations 
had  not  reached  an  ultimatum  from  either  side.  But 
Cicero  Avas  still  distant  from  the  parties  ;  and,  before 
it  was  possible  that  any  general  congress  representing 
both  interests,  could  assemble,  it  was  certain  that  re- 
ciprocal distrust  would  coerce  them  into  irrevocable 
measures  of  hostility.  Cicero  landed  at  Otranto.  He 
went  forward  by  land  to  Brundusium,  where,  on  the 
25th  of  November,  his  wife  and  daughter,  who  had 
come  forward  from  Rome  to  meet  him,  entered  the 
public  square  of  that  town  at  the  same  moment  with 
himself.  Without  delay  he  moved  forward  towards 
Rome  ;  but  he  could  not  gratify  his  ardor  for  a  per- 
sonal interference  in  the  great  crisis  of  the  hour,  with- 
out entering  Rome  ;  and  that  he  was  not  at  liberty  to 
do,  without  surrendering  his  pretensions  to  the  honor 
of  a  triumph. 

Many  writers  have  amused  themselves  with  the  idle 
vanity  of  Cicero,  in  standing  upon  a  claim  so  windy, 
under  circumstances  so  awful.  But,  on  the  one  hand, 
it  should  be  remembered  \io\y  eloquent  a  monument  i* 
was  of  civil  grandeur,  for  a  7iovus  homo  to  have  estab- 
lished his  own  amongst  the  few  surviving  triumphal 
families  of  Rome  ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  he  could 
bave  effected  nothing  by  his  presence  in  the  seiiate. 
No  man  could  at  this  moment ;  Cicero  least  of  all ; 
because  his  policy  had  been  thus  arranged  —  ultimately 


279 


to  support  Pompiy  ;  but  in  the  meantime,  as  strength- 
eninnj  the  chances  against  war,  to  exhibit  a  perfect 
neutrality.  Bringing,  therefore,  nothing  in  his  coun- 
sels, he  could  hope  for  nothing  influential  in  the  result. 
Caesar  was  now  at  Ravenna,  as  the  city  nearest  to 
Rome  of  all  which  he  could  make  his  military  head- 
quarters within  the  Italian  (i.  e.  the  Cisalpine)  province 
of  Gaul.  But  he  held  his  forces  well  in  hand,  and 
ready  for  a  start,  with  his  eyes  literally  fixed  on  the 
walls  of  Rome,  so  near  had  he  approached.  Cicero 
warned  his  friend  Atticus,  that  a  dreadful  and  per- 
fectly unexampled  war  —  a  struggle  '  of  life  anu 
death  '  —  was  awaiting  them  ;  and  that  in  his  opinion 
nothing  could  avert  it,  short  of  a  great  Parthian  in- 
vasion, deluging  the  Eastern  provinces  —  Greece, 
Asia  Minor,  Syria  —  such  as  might  force  the  two 
chieftains  into  an  instant  distraction  of  their  efforts. 
Out  of  that  would  grow  the  absence  of  one  or  other ; 
and  upon  that  separation,  for  the  present,  might  hang 
an  incalculable  scries  of  changes.  Else,  and  but  for 
this  one  contingency,  he  announced  the  fate  of  Rome 
to  be  sealed. 

The  new  year  came,  the  year  705,  and  with  it  new 
consuls.  One  of  these,  C.  Marcellus,  was  distinguished 
amongst  the  enemies  of  Caesar  by  his  personal  rancor 
—  a  feeling  which  he  shared  with  his  twin-brother 
Marcus.  In  the  first  day  of  this  month,  the  senate 
n-as  to  decide  upon  Caesar's  proposals,  as  a  basis  for 
•'iiture  arrangement.  They  did  so  ;  they  voted  tho 
proposals,  by  a  large  majority,  unsatisfactory  —  in- 
stantly assumed  a  fierce  martial  attitude  —  fulminated 
the  most  hostile  of  all  decrees,  and  authorized  ehock- 
ing    o  jtragcs    upon   those   who,   in    official    situation! 


280  .  CICEEO. 

represented  Caesar's  interest.  TLese  mtn  fled  for  their 
'ives.  Caesar,  on  receiving  their  report,  gave  the  signal 
for  advance  ;  and  in  forty-eight  hours  had  crossed  tne 
little  hrook  called  the  Rubicon,  which  determined  the 
marches  or  frontier  line  of  his  province.  Earlier  by 
a  month  than  this  great  event,  Cicero  had  travelled 
southward.  Thus  his  object  was,  to  place  himself  in 
personal  communication  with  Pompey,  whose  vast 
Neapolitan  estates  drew  him  often  into  that  quarter. 
But,  to  his  great  consternation,  he  found  himself  soon 
followed  by  the  whole  stream  of  Roman  grandees, 
flying  before  Caesar  through  the  first  two  months  of  the 
year.  A  majority  of  the  senators  had  chosen,  together 
with  the  consuls,  to  become  emigrants  from  Rome, 
lather  than  abide  any  compromise  with  Caesar.  And, 
as  these  were  chiefly  the  rich  and  potent  in  the  aris- 
tocracy, naturally  they  drew  along  with  themselves 
many  humble  dependents,  both  in  a  pecuniary  and  a 
political  sense.  A  strange  rumor  prevailed  at  this 
moment,  to  which  even  Cicero  showed  himself  mali- 
ciously credulous,  that  Caesar's  natural  temper  was 
cruel,  and  that  his  policy  also  had  taken  that  direction. 
But  the  brilliant  result  within  the  next  six  or  seven 
weeks  changed  the  face  of  politics,  disabused  everybody 
of  their  delusions,  and  showed  how  large  a  portion 
of  the  panic  had  been  due  to  monstrous  misconcep- 
tions. For  already,  in  March,  multitudes  of  refugees 
had  returned  to  Caesar.  By  the  first  week  of  April, 
that  '  monster  of  energy,'  (that  TiQa?  of  superhuman 
despatch,)  as  Cicero  repeatedly  styles  Caesar,  had 
marched  through  Italy  —  had  re-^eived  the  submission 
of  every  strong  fortress  —  had  driven  Pompey  into  his 
last  Calabrian  retreat  of  Brundusium,  (at  which  poin 


CICERO.  281 

it  was  that  this  unhappy  man  unconsciously  took  his 
last  farewell  of  Italian  ground)  —  had  summarily 
kicked  him  out  of  Brundusium  —  and,  having  thus 
cleared  all  Italy  of  enemies,  was  on  his  road  back  to 
Rome.  From  this  city,  within  the  first  ten  days  of 
April,  he  moved  onwards  to  the  Spanish  war,  where, 
in  reality,  the  true  strength  of  Pompey's  cause  —  strong 
legions  of  soldiers,  chiefly  Italian  —  awaited  him  in 
strong  positions,  chosen  at  leisure,  under  Afranius  and 
Petreius.  For  the  rest  of  this  year,  705,  Pompey  was 
unmolested.  In  706,  Caesar,  victorious  from  Spain, 
addressed  himself  to  the  task  of  overthrowing  Pompey 
in  person  ;  and,  on  the  9th  of  August  in  that  year, 
took  place  the  ever-memorable  battle  on  the  river 
Pharsalus  in  Thessaly. 

During  all  this  period  of  about  one  year  and  a  half, 
Cicero's  letters,  at  intermitting  periods,  hold  the  same 
language.  They  fluctuate,  indeed,  strangely  in  tem- 
per ;  for  they  run  through  all  the  changes  incident  to 
hoping,  trusting,  and  disappointed  friendship.  Noth- 
ing can  equal  the  expression  of  his  scorn  for  Pompey's 
inertia,  when  contrasted  with  energy  so  astonishing 
on  the  part  of  his  antagonist.  Cicero  had  also  been 
deceived  as  to  facts.  The  plan  of  the  campaign  had, 
to  him  in  particular,  not  been  communicated ;  he  Lad 
been  allowed  to  calculate  on  a  final  resistance  in  Italy 
This  was  certainly  impossible.  But  the  policy  of 
maintaining  a  show  of  opposition,  which  it  was  in- 
tended to  abandon  at  every  point,  or  of  procuring  for 
Caesar  the  credit  of  so  many  successive  triumphs, 
which  might  all  have  been  evaded,  has  never  received 
ikuy  explanation. 

Towards  the  middle  of  February,  Cicero  ackaowl 


282  CICERO. 

edges  the  receipt  of  letters  from  Rome,  which  in  one 
Bense  are  vahiable,  as  exposing  the  system  cf  self- 
delusion  prevailing.  Domitius,  it  seems,  who  soon 
after  laid  down  his  arms  at  Corfinium,  and  with  Cor- 
finium,  parading  his  forces  only  to  make  a  more 
solemn  surrender,  had,  as  the  despatches  from  Rome 
asserted,  an  army  on  Avhich  he  could  rely  ;  as  to 
Csesar,  that  nothing  was  easier  than  to  intercept  him  ; 
that  such  was  Caesar's  own  impression ;  that  honest 
men  were  recovering  their  spirits  ;  and  that  the  rogues 
at  Rome  {Romce  improbos)  were  one  and  all  in  con- 
sternation. It  tells  powerfully  for  Cicero's  sagacity, 
that  now,  amidst  this  general  explosion  of  childish 
hopes,  he  only  was  sternly  incredulous.  '  Hcec  metuo, 
equidem,  ne  sint  somnia.'*  Yes,  he  had  learned  by  this 
time  to  appreciate  the  windy  reliances  of  his  party. 
He  had  an  argument  from  experience  for  slighting  their 
vain  demonstrations  ;  and  he  had  a  better  argument 
from  the  future,  as  that  future  was  really  contemplated 
in  the  very  counsels  of  the  leader.  Pompey,  though 
nominally  controlled  by  other  men  of  consular  rank, 
was  at  present  an  autocrat  for  the  management  of  the 
war.  What  was  his  policy  ?  Cicero  had  now  dis- 
covered, not  so  much  through  confidential  interviews, 
as  by  the  mute  tendencies  of  all  the  measures  adopted 
—  Cicero  was  satisfied  that  his  total  policy  had  been, 
i.rom  the  first,  a  policy  of  despair. 

The  position  of  Pompey,  as  an  old  invalid,  from 
whom  his  party  exacted  the  "services  of  youth,  is 
rsrorthy  of  separate  notice.  Th<  "^  is  not,  perhaps,  a 
more  pitiable  situation  than  that  o\  a  veteran  reposing 
upon  his  past  laurels,  who  is  summoned  from  beds  of 
down,    and    from    the    elaborate    system    of    comfort! 


CICERO.  .    283 

engrafted  upon  a  princely  establishment,  suddenly  to 
re-assume  his  armor  —  to  prepare  for  personal  hard- 
Bhips  of  every  kind  —  to  renew  his  youthful  anxieties, 
without  support  from  youthful  energies  —  once  again 
to  dispute  sword  in  hand  the  title  to  his  own  honors  — 
to  pay  back  into  the  chancery  of  war,  as  into  some 
fund  of  abeyance,  all  his  own  prizes,  and  palms  of 
every  kind  —  to  re-open  every  decision  or  award  by 
which  he  had  ever  benefited  —  and  to  view  his  own 
national  distinctions  of  name,  trophy,  laurel  crown,''^ 
as  all  but  so  many  stakes  provisionally  resumed,  which 
must  be  redeemed  by  services  tenfold  more  difficult 
than  those  by  which  originally  titiey  had  been  earned. 

Here  was  a  trial  painful,  unexpected,  sudden  ;  such 
as  any  man,  at  any  age,  might  have  honorably  de- 
clined. The  very  best  contingency  in  such  a  struggle 
was,  that  nothing  might  be  lost ;  whilst,  along  with 
this  doubtful  hope,  ran  the  certainty  —  that  nothing 
could  be  gained.  More  glorious  in  the  popular  esti- 
mate of  his  countrymen,  Pompey  could  not  become, 
for  his  honors  were  already  historical,  and  touched 
with  the  autumnal  hues  of  antiquity,  having  been  won 
in  a  generation  now  gone  by  ;  but  on  the  other  hand 
he  might  lose  everything,  for,  in  a  contest  with  so 
ireadful  an  antagonist  as  Caesar,  he  could  not  hope  to 
come  off  unscorched  ;  and,  whatever  might  bo  the 
'inal  event,  one  result  must  have  struck  him  as  inevita- 
ble, viz.  that  a  new  generation  of  men,  who  had  come 
forward  into  the  arena  of  life  within  the  last  twenty 
years,  would  watch  the  approaching  collision  with 
Cccsar  as  putting  to  the  test  &  question  much  canvassed 
of  late,  with  regard  to  the  sovmdness  and  legitimacy  of 
^ompey's  military  exploits.      Vs  a  commandei -in-chief 


284  ciCEEo. 

Pompey  wus  known  to  have  been  unusually  fortunate. 
The  bloody  contests  of  Marius,  Cinna,  Sylla,  and  theii 
vindictive,  but,  perhaps,  unavoidable,  proscription,  had 
thinned  the  ranks  of  natural  competitors,  at  the  very 
opening  of  Pompey's  career.  That  interval  of  abouj 
eight  years,  by  which  he  was  senior  to  Caesar,  hap- 
pened to  make  the  whole  difference  between  a  crowded 
list  of  candidates  for  offices  of  trust,  and  no  list  at  all. 
Even  more  lucky  had  Pompey  found  himself  in  the 
character  of  his  appointments,  and  in  the  quality  of 
his  antagonists.  All  his  wars  had  been  of  that  class 
which  yield  great  splendor  of  external  show,  but  im- 
pose small  exertion  and  less  risk.  In  the  war  with 
Mithridates  he  succeeded  to  great  captains  who  had 
sapped  the  whole  stamina  and  resistance  of  the  con- 
test ;  besides  that,  after  all  the  varnishings  of  Cicero, 
when  speaking  for  the  Manilian  law,  the  enemy  was 
too  notoriously  effeminate.  The  bye-battle  with  the 
Cilician  pirates,  is  more  obscure  ;  but  it  is  certain  that 
the  extraordinary  powers  conferred  on  Pompey  by  the 
Gabinian  law,  gave  to  him,  as  compared  with  hia 
predecessors  in  the  same  effort  at  cleansing  the  Levant 
from  a  nuisance,  something  like  the  unfair  superiority 
above  their  brethren  enjoyed  by  some  of  Charlemagne's 
paladins,  in  the  possession  of  enchanted  weapons.  The 
success  was  already  ensured  by  the  great  armament 
placed  at  Pompey's  disposal ;  and  still  more  by  hia 
unlimited  commission,  which  enabled  him  to  force 
tliese  water-rats  out  of  their  holes,  and  to  bring  thera 
rII  into  one  focus ;  whilst  the  pompous  name  of  Bellun. 
Piraticum,  exaggerated  to  all  after  years  a  succesj 
which  had  been  at  the  moment  too  partially  facilitated 
Finally,  in  his  triumph  over  Sertorius,  where  only  he 


285 


*rould  liave  found  a  great  Roman  enemy  capable 
of  appljdng  some  measure  of  power  to  himself,  by 
the  energies  of  resistance,  although  the  transaction  is 
circumstantially  involved  in  much  darkness,  enough 
remains  to  show  that  Pompey  shrank  from  open  con- 
test —  passively,  how  far  co-operatively  it  is  hard  to 
Bay,  Pompey  owed  his  triumph  to  mere  acts  of  decoy 
and  subsequent  assassination. 

Upon  this  sketch  of  Pompey' s  military  life,  it  is 
evident  that  he  must  have  been  regarded,  after  the 
enthusiasm  of  the  moment  iiad  gone  by,  as  a  hollow 
Bcenical  pageant.  But  what  had  produced  this  enthu- 
siasm at  the  moment  ?  It  was  the  remoteness  of  the 
scenes.  The  pirates  had  been  a  troublesome  enemy, 
precisely  in  that  sense  which  made  the  Pindarrees  of 
India  such  to  ourselves  ;  because,  as  flying  marauders, 
lurking  and  watching  their  opportunities,  they  could 
seldom  be  brought  to  action ;  so  that  not  their  power, 
but  their  want  of  power,  made  them  formidable,  indis- 
posing themselves  to  concentration,  and  consequently 
weakening  the  motive  to  a  combined  effort  against 
them.  Then,  as  to  Mithridates,  a  great  error  prevailed 
in  Rome  with  regard  to  the  quality  of  his  power.  The 
spaciousness  of  his  kingdom,  its  remoteness,  his  power 
of  retreat  into  Armenia  —  all  enabled  him  to  draw  out 
the  war  into  a  lingering  struggle.  These  local  advan- 
tages were  misinterpreted.  A  man  who  could  resist 
Sylla,  Lucullus,  and  others,  approved  himself  to  the 
raw  judgments  of  the  multitude  as  a  dangerous  enemy. 
Wheace  a  very  disproportionate  appreciation  of  Pom- 
pey —  as  of  a  second  Scipio  who  had  destroyed  a 
second  Hannibal.  If  Hannibal  had  transferred  the 
war  to  the  gates  of  Rome,  why  not  ^lithridates,  who 


286  CICERO. 

had  come  westwards  as  far  as  Greece?  And,  u^on 
that  argument,  the  panic-struck  people  of  Rome  fan- 
cied that  Mithridates  might  repeat  the  experiment. 
They  overlooked  the  changes  which  nearly  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  years  had  wrought.  As  possible  it 
would  have  been  for  Scindia  and  Holkar  forty  years 
ago,  as  possible  for  Tharawaddie*  at  this  moment,  to 
conduct  an  expedition  into  England,  as  for  Mithridates 
to  have  invaded  Italy  at  the  era  of  670-80  of  Rome. 
There  is  a  wild  romantic  legend,  surviving  in  old 
Scandinavian  literature,  that  Mithridates  did  not  die  by 
suicide,  but  that  he  passed  over  the  Black  Sea ;  from 
Pontus  on  the  south-east  of  that  sea  to  the  Baltic ; 
crossed  the  Baltic ;  and  became  that  Odin  whose 
fierce  vindictive  spirit  reacted  upon  Rome,  in  after 
centuries,  through  6he  Goths  and  Vandals,  his  sup- 
posed descendants:  just  as  the  blood  of  Dido,  the 
Cai'thaginian  queen,  after  mounting  to  the  heavens  — 
under  her  dying  imprecation, 

*  Exoriare  aliquis  nostro  de  sanguine  vindex  '  — 

came  round  in  a  vast  arch  of  bloodshed  upon  Rome, 
under  the  retaliation  of  Hannibal,  four  or  five  centuries 
later.  This  Scandinavian  legend  might  answer  for  a 
grand  romance,  carrying  with  it,  like  the  Punic  legend, 
a  semblance  of  mighty  retribution  ;  but,  as  an  historical 
possibility,  any  Mithridatic  invasion  of  Italy  would  be 
extravagant.  Having  ocen  swallowed,  however,  by 
Roman  credulity  as  a  dangei,  always  in  procinctu, 
so  long  as  the  old  Pontic  lion  should  be  unchained, 
naturally  it  had  happened  that  this  groundless  panic, 
from  its  very  indistinctness  and  shadowy  outline,  be- 
tame  more  available  for  Pompey's  immoderate  glorifi. 

*  The  Burmese  Emperor  invaded  by  us  tlien  [1842.] 


CTC£BO.  287 

»tion  than  any  service  so  much  nearer  to  home  as 
to  be  more  rationally  appreciable.  With  the  same 
unexampled  luck,  Pompey,  as  the  last  man  in  the 
aeries  against  Mithridates,  stepped  into  the  inheritance 
of  merit  belonging  to  the  entire  series  in  that  service ; 
and  as  the  laborer  who  easily  reaped  the  harvest, 
practically  threw  into  oblivion  all  those  who  had  so 
painfully  sown  it. 

But  a  special  Nemesis  haunts  the  steps  of  men  who  { 
become  great  and  illustrious  by  appropriating  the 
trophies  of  their  brothers.  Pompey,  more  strikingly 
than  any  man  in  history,  illustrates  the  moral  in  his 
catastrophe.  It  is  perilous  to  be  dishonorably  prosper- 
ous ;  and  equally  so,  as  the  ancients  imagined,  whether 
by  direct  perfidies,  (of  Avhich  Pompey  is  deeply  sus- 
pected,) or  by  silent  acquiescence  in  unjust  honors. 
Seared  as  Pompey's  sensibilities  might  be  through  long 
self-indulgence,  and  latterly  by  annual  fits  of  illness, 
founded  on  dyspepsy,  he  must  have  had,  at  this  great 
era,  a  dim  misgiving  that  his  good  genius  was  forsaking 
him.  No  Shakspeare,  with  his  unusual  warnings,  had 
then  proclaimed  the  dark  retribution  which  awaited  his 
final  year :  but  the  sentiment  of  Shakspeare  (see  his 
Bonnets)  is  eternal  ;  and  must  have  whispered  itself  to 
**ompey's  heart,  as  he  saw  the  billowy  war  advancing 
wpon  him  in  his  old  age  — 

•  The  painful  warrior,  famoused  for  fight. 
After  a  thousand  victories — once  fcil'd, 
Is  from  the  book  of  honor  razed  quite, 

And  all  the  rest  forgot  for  which  he  toil'd.' 

To  say  the  truth,  in  this  instvince  as  in  so  many 
'thers,  the  great  n-oral  of  the  retribution  <>.scapes  us  — 
because  we  do  not  connect  the  scattered  phencmena 


288  ciC£:ao. 

into  their  rigorous  unity.  Most  readers  pursue  the 
early  steps  of  this  mightiest  amongst  all  ciril  wars 
with  the  hopes  and  shifting  sympathies  natural  to  those 
who  accompanied  its  motions.  Cicero  must  ever  Le 
the  great  authority  for  the  daily  fluctuations  of  piiblic 
opinion  in  the  one  party,  as  Caesar,  with  a  few  later 
authors,  for  those  in  the  other.  But  inevitably  these 
coeval  authorities,  shifting  their  own  positions  as  eTents 
advanced,  break  the  uniformity  of  the  lesson.  They 
did  not  see,  as  we  may  if  we  will,  to  the  end.  Some- 
times the  Pompeian  partisans  are  cheerful ;  sometimes 
even  they  are  sanguine ;  once  or  twice  there  is  abso- 
lutely a  slight  success  to  color  their  vaunts.  But  much 
of  this  is  mere  political  dissimulation.  We  now  find, 
from  the  confidential  parts  of  Cicero's  correspondence, 
that  he  had  never  heai'tily  hoped  from  the  hour  when 
he  first  ascertained  Pompey's  drooping  spirits,  and  his 
desponding  policy.  And  in  a  subsequent  stage  of  the 
contest,  when  the  war*  had  crossed  the  Adriatic,  we 
now  know,  by  a  remarkable  passage  in  his  De  Divina- 
tione,  that,  whatever  he  might  think  it  prudent  to  say, 
never  from  the  moment  when  he  personally  attached 
himself  to  Pompey's  camp,  had  he  felt  any  reliance 
whatever  on  the  composition  of  the  army.  Even  to 
I'ompey's  misgiving  ear  in  solitude,  a  fatal  summons 
must  have  been  sometimes  audible,  to  resign  his  quiet 
life  and  his  showy  prosperity.  The  call  was  in  efiect 
— -  '  Leave  your  palaces  ;  come  back  to  camps  —  never 
moie  to  know  a  quiet  hour  ! '  What  if  he  could  have 
heai  d  arriere  pensee  of  the  silent  call  I  '  Live  througlr 
it  brief  season  of  calamity  ;  live  long  enough  for  total 
ruin  ;  live  for  a  morning  on  which  it  will  be  said  —  All 
ig  lost;  as  a  panic-stiicken  fugitive,  sue  to  the  meiciet 


CICERO.  289 

ftf  slaves ;  and  in  return,  as  a  headless  trunk,  lie  like 
a  poor  mutilated  mariner,  rejected  by  the  sea,  a  wreck 
from  a  wreck  —  owing  even  the  last  rites  of  burial  to 
the  pity  of  a  solitary  exile.'  This  doom,  and  thus  cir- 
cumstantially, no  man  could  know.  But,  in  features 
that  were  even  gloomier  than  these,  Pompey  might, 
through  his  long  experience  of  men,  have  foreseen  the 
bitter  course  which  he  had  to  traverse.  It  did  not 
require  any  extraordinary  self-knowledge  to  guess, 
that  continued  opposition  upon  the  plan  of  the  campaign 
would  breed  fretfulness  in  himself;  that  the  irritation 
of  frequent  failure,  inseparable  from  a  war  so  mdely 
spread,  would  cause  blame  or  dishonor  to  himself; 
that  his  coming  experience  would  be  a  mere  chaos  of 
obstinacy  in  council,  loud  remonstrance  in  action, 
crimination  and  recrimination,  insolent  dictation  from 
rivals,  treachery  on  the  part  of  friends,  flight  and  deser  • 
tion  on  the  part  of  confidants.  Yet  even  this  fell  short 
of  the  shocking  consummation  into  which  the  frenzy 
of  faction  ripened  itself  within  a  few  months.  We 
know  of  but  one  .case  which  resembles  it,  in  one  re- 
markable feature.  Those  readers  who  are  acquainted 
with  Lord  Clarendon's  History,  will  remember  the 
very  striking  portrait  which  he  draws  of  the  king's 
small  army  of  reserve  in  Devonshire  and  the  adjacent 
districts,  subsequently  to  the  great  parliamentary  tii- 
umph  of  Naseby  in  June,  1645.  The  ground  was  now 
cleared  ;  no  work  remained  for  Fairfax  but  to  advance 
to  Northampton,  and  to  sweep  away  the  last  relics  of 
opposition.  In  every  case  this  would  have  proved  no 
trying  task.  But  what  was  ti.e  condition  of  the  hostile 
forces?  Lord  Clarendon,  who  had  personally  presided 
at  their  head-quarters  whilst  in  attendance  upon  the 
19 


290  CICERO 

prince  of  Wales,  describes  them  in  these  emphatic 
terms  as  '  a  wicked  beaten  army.'  Rarely  does  history 
present  us  with  such  a  picture  of  utter  debasement  in 
an  army  —  coming  from  no  enemy,  but  from  one  who, 
at  the  very  moment  of  recording  his  opinion,  knew  this 
army  to  be  the  king's  final  resource.  Reluctant  as  a 
wise  man  must  feel  to  reject  as  irredeemable  in  vileness 
that  which  he  knows  to  be  indispensable  to  hope,  this 
solemn  opinion  of  Lord  Clarendon's,  upon  his  royal 
master's  last  stake,  had  been  in  earlier  ages  anticipated 
by  Cicero,  under  the  very  same  circumstances,  with 
regard  to  the  same  ultimate  resource.  The  army  which 
Pompey  had  concentrated  in  the  regions  of  northern 
Greece,  was  the  ultimate  resource  of  that  party ; 
because,  though  a  strong  nucleus  for  other  armies 
existed  in  other  provinces,  these  remoter  dependencies 
were  in  all  likelihood  contingent  upon  the  result  froir. 
this  —  were  Pompey  prosperous,  Ihey  would  be  pros- 
perous ;  if  not,  not.  Knowing,  therefore,  the  fatal 
emphasis  which  belonged  to  his  words,  not  blind  to  the 
inference  which  they  involved,  Cicero  did,  notwith- 
standing, pronounce  confidentially  that  same  judgment 
of  despair  upon  the  army  soon  to  perish  at  Pharsalia, 
which,  from  its  strange  identity  of  tenor  and  circum- 
stances, we  have  quoted  from  Lord  Clarendon.  Both 
statesmen  spoke  confessedly  of  a  last  sheet  anchor ; 
both  spoke  of  an  army  vicious  in  its  military  composi- 
tion :  but  also,  which  is  the  peculiarity  of  the  case,  both 
charged  the  onus  of  their  own  despair  upon  the  non- 
professional qualities  of  the  soldiers  ;  upon  their  licen- 
tious un  civic  temper  ;  upon  their  open  anticipations  oi 
plunder ;  and  upon  their  tiger-training  towards  a  grea» 
festival  of  coming  revenge. 


CICEBO.  291 

Lord  Clarendon,  however,  it  may  be  said,  did  not 
Include  the  commander  of  the  Devonshire  army  in  hia 
denunciation.  No  :  and  there  it  is  that  the  two  reports 
differ,  Cicero  did  include  the  commander.  It  was 
the  commander  whom  he  had  chiefly  in  his  eye 
Others,  indeed,  were  parties  to  the  horrid  conspiraiij 
against  the  country  which  he  charged  upon  Pompey 
for  non  datur  conjuratio  aliter  quain  per  plures ;  but 
tJiese  '  others  '  were  not  the  private  soldiers  —  they 
were  the  leadiug  officers,  the  staff,  the  council  at 
Pompey's  head-quarters,  and  generally  the  men  of 
senatorial  rank.  Yet  still,  to  complete  the  dismal 
unity  of  the  prospect,  these  conspirators  had  an  army 
of  ruffian  foreigners  under  their  orders,  such  as  formed 
an  appropriate  engine  for  their  horrid  purposes. 

This  is  a  most  important  point  for  clearing  up  the 
true  character  of  the  war ;  and  it  has  been  utterly 
neglected  by  historians.  It  is  notorious  that  Cicero, 
on  first  joining  the  faction  of  Pompey  after  the  decla- 
ration of  hostilities,  had  for  some  months  justified  his 
conduct  on  the  doctrine  —  that  the  '  causa,'  the  con- 
stitutional merits  of  the  dispute,  lay  with  Pompey.  He 
could  not  deny  that  Caesar  had  grievances  to  plead  ; 
but  he  insisted  on  two  things  :  1 ,  That  the  mode  of 
redress,  by  which  Caesar  made  his  appeal,  was  radically 
Illegal ;  2,  That  the  certain  tendency  of  this  redress 
was  to  a  civil  revolution.  Such  had  been  the  consistent 
lepresentation  of  Cicero,  until  the  course  of  events  made 
him  better  acquainted  with  Pompey's  real  temper  and 
policy.  It  is  also  notorious  —  and  here  lies  the  key  to 
the  ?rror  of  all  biog'-aphers  —  ♦^hat  about  two  yeara 
iailer,  when  the  miserable  death  of  Pompey  had  indis- 
posed Cicero  to  rememt^i  his  wicked  unaccomplished 


292  ciCKBO. 

purposes,  and  when  the  assassination  of  Caesar  had 
made  it  safe  to  resume  his  ancient  mysterious  animosity 
tc  the  very  name  of  the  great  man,  Cicero  did  undoubt- 
edly go  back  to  his  early  way  of  distinguishing  between 
them.  As  an  orator,  and  as  a  philosopher,  he  brought 
back  his  original  distortions  of  the  case.  Pompey,  it 
was  again  pleaded,  had  been  a  champion  of  the  state, 
(sometimes  he  ventured  upon  saying,  of  liberty,)  Caesar 
had  been  a  traitor  and  a  tyrant.  The  two  extreme 
terms  of  his  own  politics,  the  earliest  and  the  last,  do 
in  fact  meet  and  blend.  But  the  proper  object  of 
scrutiny  for  the  sincere  inquirer  is  this  parenthesis  of 
time,  that  intermediate  experience  which  placed  him 
in  daily  communion  with  the  real  Pompey  of  the  year 
Ab  Urbe  Cond.  705,  and  which  extorted  from  his  in- 
dignant patriotism  revelations  to  his  confidential  friend 
Bo  atrocious,  that  nothing  in  history  approaches  them. 
This  is  the  period  to  examine  ;  for  the  logic  of  the 
case  is  urgent.  Were  Cicero  now  alive,  he  could 
make  no  resistance  to  a  construction,  and  a  personal 
appeal  such  as  this.  Easily  you  might  have  a  motive, 
subsequently  to  your  friend's  death,  for  dissembling 
the  evil  you  had  once  imputed  to  him.  But  it  is  im- 
possible that,  as  an  unwilling  witness,  you  could  have 
had  any  motive  at  all  for  counterfeiting  or  exaggerat- 
ing on  your  friend  an  evil  purpose  that  did  not  exist. 
The  dissimulation  might  be  natural  —  the  stimulation 
was  inconceivable.  To  suppress  a  true  scandal  was 
the  office  of  a  sorrowing  friend  —  to  propagate  a  false 
one  was  the  office  of  a  knave:  not,  therefore,  that 
.ater  testimony  which  to  have  garbled  was  amiable 
Sut  that  coeval  testimony  which  to  have  invented  wa» 
-usanity  —  this  it  is  which  we  must  abide  by.     Besidei 


ciCEEo.  293 

&at,  there  is  another  explanation  of  Cicero's  la,ter  lan- 
guage than  simple  piety  to  the  memory  of  a  friend. 
His  discovery  of  Pompey's  execrable  plan  was  limited 
to  a  few  months  ;  so  that,  equally  from  its  brief  dura- 
tion, its  suddenness,  and  its  astonishing  contradiction 
to  all  he  had  previously  believed  of  Pompey,  such  u 
painful  secret  was  likely  enough  to  fade  from  his 
recollection,  after  it  had  ceased  to  have  any  practical 
importance  for  the  world.  On  the  other  hand,  Cicero 
had  a  deep  vindictive  policy  in  keeping  back  an  evil 
that  he  knew  of  Pompey.  It  was  a  mere  necessity  of 
logic,  that,  if  Pompey  had  meditated  the  utter  de- 
struction of  his  country  by  fire  and  sword  —  if,  more 
atrociously  still,  he  had  cherished  a  resolution  of  un- 
chaining upon  Italy  the  most  ferocious  barbarians  he 
could  gather  about  his  eagles,  Getae  for  instance,  Col- 
chians,  Armenians  —  if  he  had  ransacked  the  ports  of 
the  whole  Mediterranean  world,  and  had  mustered  all 
the  shipping  from  fourteen  separate  states  enumerated 
by  Cicero,  with  an  express  purpose  of  intercepting  all 
supplies  from  Rome,  and  of  inflicting  the  slow  tor- 
ments of  famine  upon  that  vast  yet  non-belligerent 
city  —  then,  in  opposing  such  a  monster,  Caesar  was 
undeniably  a  public  benefactor.  Not  only  would  the 
magnanimity  and  the  gracious  spirit  of  forgiveness  in 
Csesar,  be  recalled  with  advantage  into  men's  thoughts, 
by  any  confession  of  this  hideous  malignity  in  his 
antagonist ;  but  it  really  became  impossible  to  sustain 
»ny  theory  of  am'oitious  violence  in  Caesar,  when 
■cgarded  under  his  relations  to  such  a  body  of  parri- 
'  •'ial  conspirators.  Fighting  for  public  objects  that 
we  difficult  of  explaining  to  a  mob,  easily  may  any 
rhieftain  of  a  party  be  misrepresented  as  a  child  of 


idi  CICEKO. 

selfish  ambition.  But,  once  emblazoned  as  the  sole 
barrier  between  his  native  land  and  a  merciless  avenger 
by  fire  and  famine,  he  would  take  a  tutelary  character 
in  the  minds  of  all  men.  To  confess  one  solitary 
council  —  such  as  Cicero  had  attended  repeatedly  at 
Pompey's  head-quarters  in  Epirus  —  was,  by  acclama- 
tion from  every  house  in  Rome,  to  evoke  a  hymn  of 
gratitude  towards  that  great  Julian  deliverer,  whose 
Pharsalia  had  turned  aside  from  Italy  a  deeper  woe 
than  any  which  Paganism  records. 

We  insist  inexorably  upon  this  state  of  relations,  as 
existing  between  Cicero  and  the  two  combatants.  We 
refuse  to  quit  this  position.  We  affirm  that,  at  a  time 
when  Cicero  argued  upon  the  purposes  of  Caesar  in  a 
manner  confessedly  conjectural,  on  the  other  hand, 
with  regard  to  Pompey,  from  confidential  communica- 
tions, he  reported  it  as  a  dreadful  discovery,  that  mere 
destruction  to  Rome  was,  upon  Pompey's  policy,  the 
catastrophe  of  the  war.  Caesar,  he  might  persuade 
himself,  would  revolutionize  Rome  ;  but  Pompey,  he 
knew  in  confidence,  meant  to  leave  no  Rome  in  exist- 
ence. Does  any  reader  fail  to  condemn  the  selfishness 
of  the  constable  Bourbon  —  ranging  himself  at  Pavia 
in  a  pitched  battle  against  his  sovereign,  on  an  argu- 
ment of  private  wrong  ?  Yet  the  constable's  treason 
nad  perhaps  identified  itself  with  his  self-preservation  ; 
and  he  had  no  reason  to  anticipate  a  lasting  calamity 
to  his  country  from  any  act  possible  to  an  individual. 
If  we  look  into  ancient  history,  the  case  of  Hippias, 
the  son  of  Pisistratus,  scarcely  approaches  to  this.  He 
mdeed  returned  to  Athens  in  company  with  the  in« 
rading  hosts  of  Darius.  But  he  had  probably  beea 
ixpelled  from  Athens  by  violent  injustice  ;  and,  though 


ciCEKo.  295 

attending  a  hostile  invasion,  he  could  not  have  caused 
It.  Hardiy  a  second  case  can  be  found  in  all  history 
as  a  parallel  to  the  dreadful  design  of  Pompey,  unless 
it  be  that  of  Count  Julian  calling  in  the  Saracens  1o 
ravage  Spain,  and  to  overthrow  the  altars  of  Christian- 
ity, on  the  provocation  of  one  outrage  to  his  own 
house  ;  early  in  the  eighth  century  invoking  a  scox^rge 
that  was  not  entirely  to  be  withdrawn  until  the  six- 
teenth. But  then  for  Count  Julian  it  may  be  pleaded 
—  that  the  whole  tradition  is  doubtful ;  that  if  true 
to  the  letter,  his  own  provocation  Avas  enormous  ;  and 
that  we  must  not  take  the  measure  of  what  he  medi- 
tated by  the  frightful  consequences  which  actually 
ensued.  Count  Julian  might  have  relied  on  the  weak- 
ness of  the  sovereign  for  giving  a  present  effect  to  bis 
vengeance,  but  might  stUl  rely  consistently  enough  on 
the  natural  strength  of  his  country,  when  once  coerced 
into  union,  for  ultimately  confounding  the  enemy  — 
and  perhaps  for  confounding  the  false  fanaticism  itself. 
For  the  worst  traitor  whom  history  has  recorded,  there 
remains  some  plea  of  mitigation  ;  something  in  aggra- 
vation of  the  wTougs  which  he  had  sustained,  some- 
thing in  abatement  of  the  retaliation  which  he  de- 
signed. Only  for  Pompey  there  is  none.  Rome  had 
given  him  no  subject  of  complaint.  It  was  true  that 
the  strength  of  Caesar  lay  there  ;  because  immediate 
hopes  from  revolution  belonged  to  democracy,  to  the 
oppressed,  to  the  multitudes  in  debt,  for  whom  the  law 
ijBid  neglected  to  provide  anv  prospect  or  degree  of 
relief ;  and  these  were  exactly  the  class  of  persons  that 
tould  not  find  funds  for  emigrating.  But  still  there 
was  no  overt  act,  no  official  act,  no  representative  act, 
jy  which  Rome  had  declared  herself  for  either  party 


206  CICEHO. 

Cicero  was  now  aghast  at  the  discoveriei  he  made 
with  regard  to  Pompey.  Imbecility  of  purpose  —  dis- 
traction of  counsels  —  feebleness  in  their  dilatory 
execution  —  all  tended  to  one  dilemma,  either  that 
Pompey,  as  a  mere  favorite  of  luck,  never  had  pos- 
sessed any  military  talents,  or  that,  by  age  and  con- 
scious inequality  to  his  enemy,  these  talents  were  now 
in  a  state  of  collapse.  Having  first,  therefore,  made 
the  discovery  that  his  too  celebrated  friend  was  any- 
thing but  a  statesman,  [anoXinxwraTug,)  Cicero  came  at 
length  to  pronounce  him  aarQuTtj/txwTaTov  —  anything 
but  a  general.  But  all  this  was  nothing  in  the  way  of 
degradation  to  Pompey's  character,  by  comparison 
with  the  final  discovery  of  the  horrid  retaliation  which 
he  meditated  upon  all  Italy,  by  coming  back  with 
barbarous  troops  to  make  a  wilderness  of  the  opulent 
land,  and  upon  Rome  in  particular,  by  so  posting  his 
blockading  fleets  and  his  cruisers  as  to  intercept  all 
supplies  of  corn  from  Sicily  —  from  the  province  of 
Africa  —  and  from  Egypt.  The  great  moral,  there- 
fore, from  Cicero's  confidential  confessions  is  —  that 
he  abandoned  the  cause  as  untenable  ;  that  he  aban- 
doned the  sppposed  party  of  '  good  men,'  as  found 
upon  trial  to  be  odious  intriguers  —  and  that  he  aban- 
doned Pompey  in  any  privileged  character  of  a  patri- 
otic leader.  If  he  still  adhered  to  Pompey  as  an 
hidividual,  it  was  in  memory  of  his  personal  obliga- 
tions to  that  oligarch,  but,  secondly,  for  the  very 
^^enerous  reason  —  that  Pompey's  fortunes  were  de- 
clining ;  and  because  Cicero  would  not  be  thought  to 
have  shunned  that  man  in  his  misfortunes,  whom  iv 
"eality  he  had  felt  tempted  to  despise  only  for  hii 
normous  errors. 


297 


After  these  distinct  and  reiterated  acknowledgments, 
it  is  impossible  to  find  the  smallest  justification  for  the 
great  harmony  of  historians  in  representing  Cicero  as 
having  abided  by  those  opinions  with  which  he  first 
entered  upon  the  party  strife.  Even  at  that  time  it  is 
probable  that  Cicero's  deep  sense  of  gratitude  to  lYm- 
pey  secretly,  had  entered  more  largely  into  his  decis- 
ion than  he  had  ever  acknowledged  to  himself.  For 
he  had  at  first  exerted  himself  anxiously  to  mediate 
between  the  two  pai-ties.  Now,  if  he  really  fancied 
the  views  of  Caesar  to  proceed  on  principles  of  destruc- 
tion to  the  Roman  constitution,  all  mediation  was  a 
hopeless  attempt.  Compromise  between  extremes 
lying  so  \videly  apart,  and  in  fact,  as  between  the 
affirmation  and  the  negation  of  the  same  propositions, 
must  have  been  too  plainly  impossible  to  have  justified 
any  countenance  to  so  impracticable  a  speculation. 

But  was  not  such  a  compromise  impossible  in  prac- 
tice, even  upon  our  own  theory  of  the  opposite  requi- 
sitions ?  No.  And  a  closer  statement  of  the  true 
principles  concerned,  will  show  it  was  not.  The  great 
object  of  the  Julian  party  was,  to  heal  the  permanent 
collision  between  the  supposed  functions  of  the  people, 
in  their  electoral  capacity,  in  their  powers  of  patron- 
age, and  in  their  vast  appellate  jurisdiction,  with  the 
assumed  privileges  of  the  senate.  We  all  know  how 
dreadful  have  been  the  disputes  in  our  own  country  as 
to  the  limits  of  the  constitutional  forces  composing  the 
total  state.  Between  the  privileges  of  the  Commons 
and  the  prerogative  of  the  Crown,  how  long  a  time, 
»nd  how  severe  a  struggle  was  required  to  adjust  the 
true  temperament !  To  say  nothing  of  the  fermenting 
lisaffection    towards    the  government  throuffhout  the 


298  cicEEO. 

reign  of  James  1.,  and  the  first  fifteen  years  jf  his  son, 
,he  great  civil  war  grew  out  of  the  sheer  contradic- 
tions arising  between  the  necessities  of  the  j  ublic  ser- 
vice and  the  letter  of  superannuated  prerogatives.  The 
simple  history  of  that  great  strife  was,  that  the  democ- 
racy, the  popular  elements  in  the  commonwealth,  had 
outgrown  the  provisions  of  :)ld  usages  and  statutes. 
The  king,  a  most  conscientious  man,  believed  that  the 
efforts  of  the  Commons,  which  represented  only  the 
instincts  of  rapid  growth  in  all  popular  interests,  cloaked 
a  secret  plan  of  encroachment  on  the  essential  rights 
of  the  sovereign.  In  this  view  he  was  confirmed  by 
lawyers,  the  most  dangerous  of  all  advisers  in  political 
struggles  ;  for  they  naturally  seek  the  solution  of  all 
contested  claims,  either  in  the  position  and  determina- 
tion of  ancient  usage,  or  in  the  constructive  view  of  ite 
analogies.  Whereas,  here  the  very  question  was  con- 
cerning a  body  of  usage  and  precedent,  not  denied  in 
many  cases  as  facts,  whether  that  condition  of  policy, 
not  unreasonable  as  adapted  to  a  community,  having 
but  two  dominant  interests,  were  any  longer  safely 
tenable  under  the  rise  and  expansion  of  a  third.  For 
instance,  the  whole  management  of  our  foreign  policy 
had  always  been  reserved  to  the  crown,  as  one  of  its 
most  sacred  mysteries,  or  u7ro^()»;Ta ;  yet,  if  the  people 
could  obtain  no  indirect  control  of  this  policy,  through 
the  amplest  control  of  the  public  purse,  even  their  do- 
mestic rights  might  easily  be  made  nugatory.  Again, 
it  was  indispensable  that  the  crown  purse,  free  from 
all  direct  responsibility,  should  be  checked  by  some 
responsibility,  operating  in  a  way  to  preserve  the  sove- 
reign in  his  constitutional  sanctity.  This  was  finalU 
effected  by  the    admirable    compromise  —  of  lodging 


ciC££0.  299 

the  responsibility  in  the  persons  of  aL  servants  by  or 
through  whom  the  sovereign  could  act  Put  this  was 
BO  little  understood  by  Charles  I.  as  any  constituticna) 
priAilege  of  the  people,  that  he  resented  the  proposal 
as  much  more  insulting  to  himself  than  that  of  fixing 
the  responsibility  in  his  own  person.  The  latter  pro- 
posal he  \dewed  as  a  violation  of  his  own  prerogative, 
founded  upon  open  wrong.  There  was  an  injury,  but 
no  insult.  On  the  other  hand,  to  require  of  liim  the 
sacrifice  of  a  servant,  whose  only  offence  had  been  in 
his  fidelity  to  himself,  was  to  expect  that  he  should  act 
collusively  with  those  who  sought  to  dishonor  him. 
The  absolute  to  el  Rey  of  Spanish  kings,  in  the  last 
resort,  seemed  in  Charles's  eye  indispensable  to  the 
dignity  of  the  crown.  And  his  legal  counsellors  as- 
sured him  that,  in  conceding  this  point,  he  would  de- 
grade himself  into  a  sort  of  upper  constable,  having 
some  disagreeable  functions,  but  none  which  could  sur- 
round him  with  majestic  attributes  in  the  eyes  of  his 
subjects.  Feeling  thus,  and  thus  advised,  and  relig- 
iously persuaded  that  he  held  his  powers  for  the  ben- 
efit of  his  people,  so  as  to  be  under  a  deep  moral 
incapacity  to  surrender  '  one  dowle  '  from  his  royal 
plumage,  he  did  right  to  struggle  with  that  energy  and 
that  cost  of  blood  which  marked  his  own  personal  Avar 
from  1642  to  1645.  Now,  on  the  other  hand,  we 
know,  that  nearly  all  the  concessions  sought  from  the 
king,  and  refused  as  mere  treasonable  demands,  were 
subsequently  re-affirmed,  assumed  into  our  constitu- 
tional law,  and  solemnly  established  forever,  about 
.'orty  years  later,  by  the  Rovolution  of  1 688— 89.  And 
this  great  event  was  in  t)ie  nature  of  a  comprorrise. 
^or  the  patriots  of  lb42  had  been  betrayed  intn  some 


300  CICEKO. 

capital  errors,  claims  both  irreconcilable  with  the  dig- 
nity of  the  crown,  and  useless  to  the  people.  This 
ought  not  to  surprise  us,  and  does  not  extinguish  our 
debt  of  gratitude  to  those  great  men.  Where  has  been 
the  man,  much  less  the  party  of  men,  that  did  net,  in 
a  first  essay  upon  so  difficult  an  adjustment  as  that  oi 
an  equilibration  between  the  limits  of  political  forces, 
travel  into  some  excesses  ?  But  forty  years'  experi- 
ence —  the  restoration  of  a  party  familiar  with  the 
invaluable  uses  of  royalty,  and  the  harmonious  co- 
operation of  a  new  sovereign,  already  trained  to  a 
system  of  restraints,  made  this  final  settlement  as  near 
to  a  perfect  adjustment  and  compromise  between  all 
conflicting  rights,  as,  perhaps,  human  wisdom  could 
attain. 

Now,  from  this  English  analogy,  we  may  explain 
something  of  what  is  most  essential  in  the  Roman  con- 
flict. This  great  feature  was  common  to  the  two  cases 
—  that  the  change  sought  by  the  revolutionary  party 
was  not  an  arbitrary  change,  but  in  the  way  of  a  natu- 
ral nisus,  working  secretly  throughout  two  or  three 
generations.  It  was  a  tendency  that  would  be  denied. 
Just  as,  in  the  England  of  1640,  it  is  impossible  to 
imagine  that,  under  any  immediate  result  whatever, 
ultimately  the  mere  necessities  of  expansion  in  a  peo- 
ple, ebullient  with  juvenile  energies,  and  passing,  at 
every  decennium,  into  new  stages  of  development, 
could  have  been  gainsayed  or  much  retarded.  Had 
the  nation  embodied  less  of  that  stern  political  temper- 
ament, which  Icado  eventually  to  extremities  iii  action, 
it  is  possible  that  the  upright  and  thoughtful  character  o1 
the  sovereign  might  have  reconcihid  the  Commons  to 
expedients  of  present  redress,  and  for  twenty  years  the 


301 


crisis  might  have  been  evaded.  But  the  licentious 
character  of  Charles  II.  would  inevitably  have  chal- 
lenged the  resumption  of  the  struggle  in  a  more  em- 
bittered shape;  for  in  the  actual  war  of  1642, -the 
teparate  resources  of  the  crown  were  soon  exhausted ; 
and  a  deep  sentiment  of  respect  towards  the  king  kept 
alive  the  principle  of  fidelity  to  the  crown,  through  all 
the  oscillations  of  the  public  mind.  Under  a  stronger 
reaction  against  the  personal  sovereign,  it  is  not  abso- 
lutely impossible  that  the  aristocracy  might  have  corae 
into  the  project  of  a  republic.  Whenever  this  body 
stood  aloof,  and  by  alliance  with  the  church,  as  well 
as  with  a  very  large  section  of  the  democracy,  their 
non-adhesion  to  republican  plans  finally  brought  them 
to  extinction.  But  the  principle  cannot  be  refused  — 
that  the  conflict  was  inevitable  ;  that  the  collision  could 
in  no  way  have  been  evaded ;  and  for  the  same  reason 
as  spoken  so  loudly  in  Rome  —  because  the  grievances 
to  be  redressed,  and  the  incapacities  to  be  removed, 
and  the  organs  to  be  renewed,  were  absolute  and 
argent ;  that  the  evil  grew  out  of  the  political  system ; 
that  this  system  had  generally  been  the  silent  product 
of  time  ;  and  that  as  the  sovereign,  in  the  English 
case  most  conscientiously,  so,  on  the  other  hand,  in 
Rome,  the  Pompeian  faction,  with  no  conscience  at  all, 
Btood  upon  the  letter  of  usage  and  precedent,  where 
the  secret  truth  was  —  that  nature  herself,  that  natuie 
which  works  in  political  by  change,  by  growth,  by  de- 
Btruction,  not  less  certainly  that  in  physical  organiza- 
tions, had  long  been  silently  superannuating  these 
Drecedents,  and  preparing  the  transition  into  formi 
Viore  in  harmony  with  public  safety. 

The   capital   fault   in  the  operative  constitution  of 


502 


Rome,  had  long  been  in  the  antinomies,  5f  we  may  be 
pardoned  for  so  learned  a  term,  of  the  public  ser\T[ce. 
It  is  not  so  true  an  expression  —  that  anarchy  was 
always  to  be  apprehended,  as,  in  fact — that  anarchy 
always  subsisted.  What  made  this  anarchy  more  and 
less  dangerous,  was  the  personal  character  of  the  par- 
ticular man  militant  for  the  moment ;  next,  the  variable 
mterest  which  such  a  party  might  have  staked  upon 
the  contest ;  and  lastly,  the  variable  means  at  his  dis- 
posal towards  public  agitation.  Fortunately  for  the 
public  safety,  these  forces,  like  all  forces  in  this  world 
of  compensations,  and  of  fluctuations,  obeying  steady 
laws,  rose  but  seldom  into  the  excess  which  menaced 
the  framework  of  the  state.  Even  in  disorder,  when 
long-continued,  there  is  an  order  that  can  be  calcu- 
lated :  dangers  were  foreseen ;  remedies  were  put  into 
an  early  state  of  preparation.  But  because  the  evil 
had  not  been  so  ruinous  as  might  have  been  predicted, 
it  was  not  the  less  an  evil,  and  it  was  not  the  less  enor- 
mously increasing.  The  democracy  retained  a  large 
class  of  functions,  for  which  the  original  uses  had  been 
long  extinct.  Powers,  which  had  utterly  ceased  to  be 
available  for  interests  of  their  own,  were  now  used 
purely  as  the  tenures  by  which  they  held  a  vested  in- 
terest in  bribery.  The  sums  requisite  for  bribery  were 
rising  as  the  great  estates  rose.  No  man,  even  in  a 
gentlemanly  rank,  no  eques,  no  ancient  noble  even, 
unless  his  income  were  hyperbolically  vast,  or  uniesa 
w  the  creature  of  some  party  in  the  background,  could 
it  length  face  the  ruin  of  a  political  career.  We  do 
act  speak  of  men  anticipating  a  special  resistance,  bu 
»i  those  who  stood  in  ordinary  circumstances.  Atticua 
jB  not  a  man  whom  we  should  cite  for  any  authority  in 


303 


I  question  of  principle,  for  we  believe  Lim  to  have 
been  a  dissembling  knave,  and  the  most  perfect  vicar 
of  Bray  extant ;  but  in  a  question  of  prudence,  bis 
example  is  decisive.  Latterly  he  was  worth  a  hundred 
thousand  pounds.  Four-fifths  of  this  sum,  it  is  true, 
had  been  derived  from  a  casual  bequest ;  however,  he 
had  been  rich  enough,  even  in  early  life,  to  present  all 
the  poor  citizens  of  Athens  —  probably  twelve  thousand 
families  —  with  a  year's  consumption  for  two  individu- 
als of  excellent  wheat ;  and  he  had  been  distinguisheii 
for  other  ostentatious  largesses  ;  yet  this  man  held  it 
to  be  ridiculous,  in  common  prudence,  that  he  should 
embark  upon  any  political  career.  Merely  the  costa 
of  an  aedileship,  to  which  he  would  have  arrived  in 
early  life,  would  have  swallowed  up  the  entire  hundred 
thousand  pounds  of  his  mature  good  luck.  '  Honores 
non  petiit ;  quod  neque  peti  more  majorum,  neque  capi 
possent,  conservatis  legibus,  in  tam  effusis  largitioni- 
bus  ;  neque  geri  sine  periculo,  corruptis  civitatis  mori- 
bus.'  But  this  argument  on  the  part  of  Atticus  pointed 
to  a  modest  and  pacific  career.  When  the  politics  of 
a  man,  or  his  special  purpose,  happened  to  be  polemic, 
the  costs,  and  the  personal  risk,  and  the  risk  to  the 
public  peace,  were  on  a  scale  prodigiously  greater. 
No  man  with  such  views  could  think  of  coming  for- 
ward without  a  princely  fortune,  and  the  courage  of  a 
martyr.  Milo,  Curio,  Decimus,  Brutus,  and  many  per- 
Bons  besides,  in  a  lapse  of  twentv-five  years,  spent  for- 
tunes of  four  and  five  hundred  thousand  pounds,  and 
without  accomplishing,  after  alt  much  of  what  they 
proposed.  In  other  shapes,  the  e'il  was  still  more 
malignant ;  and,  as  these  circumstantial  cases  are  the 
most  impressive,  we  will  bring  forward  a  few. 


504  CICERO. 

/.  —  Provisional  administrations.  The  Honriaus 
were  not  characteristically  a  rapacious  or  dishonest 
people  —  the  Greeks  were  ;  and  it  is  a  fact  strongly 
illustrative  of  that  infirmity  in  principle,  and  levity, 
which  made  the  Greeks  so  contemptible  to  the  gravei 
judgments  of  Rome  —  that  hardly  a  trustworthy  man 
could  be  found  for  the  receipt  of  taxes.  The  regular 
course  of  business  was,  that  the  Greeks  absconded 
with  the  money,  unless  narrowly  watched.  Whatever 
else  they  might  be  —  sculptors,  bufibons,  dancers, 
tumblers  —  they  were  a  nation  of  swindlers.  P'or  the 
art  of  fidelity  in  peculation,  you  might  depend  upon 
them  to  any  amount.  Now,  amongst  the  Romans, 
these  petty  knaveries  were  generally  unknown.  Even 
as  knaves  they  had  aspiring  minds  ;  and  the  original 
key  to  their  spoliations  in  the  provinces,  was  un- 
doubtedly the  vast  scale  of  their  domestic  corruption. 
A  man  who  had  to  begin  by  bribing  one  nation,  must 
end  by  fleecing  another.  Almost  the  only  open  chan- 
nels through  which  a  Roman  nobleman  could  create 
a  fortune,  (always  allowing  for  a  large  means  of 
marrying  to  advantage,  since  a  man  might  shoot  a 
whole  series  of  divorces,  still  refunding  the  last  dowry, 
but  still  replacing  it  with  a  better,)  were  these  two  — 
lending  money  on  sea-risks,  or  to  embarrassed  muni- 
cipal corporations  on  good  landed  or  personal  security, 
with  the  gain  of  twenty,  thirty,  or  even  forty  per 
cent. ;  and  secondly,  the  grand  resource  of  a  pro- 
vincial government.  The  abuses  we  need  not  state  : 
the  prolongation  of  these  lieutenancies  beyond  the 
legitimate  year,  was  one  source  of  enormous  evil ; 
md  it  was  the  more  rooted  an  abuse,  because  very 
often  it  was  undeniable   that  other  evils  arose  in  th« 


CICEKO.  305 

appubite  scale  from  too  hasty  a  succession  of  gov- 
ernors, upon  which  principle  no  consistency  of  local 
improvements  could  be  ensured,  nor  any  harmony 
even  in  the  administration  of  justice,  since  each  suc- 
cessive governor  brought  his  own  system  of  legal 
rules. 

As  to  the  other  and  more  flagrant  abuses  in  ex- 
tortion from  the  province,  in  garbling  the  accounts 
and  defeating  all  scrutiny  at  Rome,  in  embezzlement 
of  military  pay,  and  in  selling  every  kind  of  private 
advantage  for  bribes,  these  have  been  made  notorious 
by  the  very  circumstantial  exposure  of  Verres.  But 
some  of  the  worst  evils  are  still  unpublished,  and  must 
be  ^ooked  for  in  the  indirect  revelations  of  Cicero 
when  himself  a  governor,  as  well  as  the  incidental 
relations  by  special  facts  and  cases.  We,  on  our 
parts,  will  venture  to  raise  a  doubt  whether  Verres 
ought  really  to  be  considered  that  exorbitant  criminal 
whose  guilt  has  been  so  profoundly  impressed  upon 
us  all  by  the  forensic  artifices  of  Cicero.  The  true 
reasons  for  his  condemnation  must  be  sought,  first,  in 
the  proximity  of  Rome  of  that  Sicilian  province  where 
many  of  his  alleged  oppressions  had  occurred  —  the 
fluent  intercourse  with  his  island,  and  the  multiplied 
inter-connections  of  individual  towns  with  Roman 
grandees,  aggravated  the  facilities  of  making  charges  ; 
whilst  the  proofs  w?re  anything  but  satisfactory  in  the 
Roman  judicature.  Here  lay  one  disadvantage  of 
Verres  ;  but  another  was  —  that  the  ordinary  system 
of  bribes,  viz.  the  sacrifice  of  one  poition  from  the 
•polls  in  the  shape  of  bribes  to  the  jury  {judices)  in 
order  to  redeem  the  other  portions,  could  not  be 
applied  in  this  case.     The  spoils  were  chiefly  workf 

"20 


BOG  CICERO. 

of  Art ;  Verres  was  the  very  first  man  who  formed  a 
gallery  of  art  in  Rome  ;  and  a  French  writer  in  the 
Academie  des  Inscriptions  has  written  a  most  elabo- 
rate catalogue  raisonnee  to  his  gallery  —  drawn  fiom 
the  materials  left  by  Cicero  and  Pliny.  But  this  was 
obviously  a  sort  of  treasure  that  did  not  admit  of 
partition.  And  the  object  of  Verres  would  equally 
have  been  defeated  by  selling  a  pan  for  the  costs  of 
'  salvage  '  on  the  rest.  In  this  sad  dilemma,  Verres 
upon  the  whole  resolved  to  take  his  chance  ;  or,  if 
bribery  were  applied  to  some  extent,  it  must  have 
stopped  far  short  of  that  excess  to  which  it  would  have 
proceeded  under  a  more  disposable  form  of  his  gains. 
But  we  will  not  conceal  the  truth  which  Cicero  indi- 
rectly reveals.  The  capital  abuse  in  the  provincial 
system  was  —  not  that  the  guilty  governor  might 
escape,  but  that  the  innocent  governor  might  be 
ruined.  It  is  evident  that,  in  a  majority  of  cases, 
this  magistrate  was  thrown  upon  his  own  discretion. 
Nothing  could  be  so  indefinite  and  uncircumstantial 
as  the  Roman  laws  on  this  head.  The  most  upright 
administrator  was  almost  as  cruelly  laid  open  to  the 
fury  of  calumnious  persecution  as  the  worst ;  both 
were  often  cited  to  answer  upon  parts  of  their  admin- 
istration altogether  blameless  ;  but,  when  the  original 
rule  had  been  so  wide  and  lax,  the  final  resource  must 
Se  in  the  mercj'  of  the  tribunals. 

II,  — The  Roman  judicial  system.     This  would  re- 
ijTiire  a  separate  volume,  and  chiefly  upon  this  ground 
• —  that  in  no  country  upon  earth,  except  Rome,  has  , 
the  ordinary  administration  of  justice  been  aj)pLied  as 
a.  gref.t  political  engine.     Men,  who  could   not  othei* 


CICEBO. 


307 


wise  be  removed,  were  constantly  assailed  by  im- 
peachments ;  and  oftentimes  for  acts  done  forty  or 
fifty  years  before  the  time  of  trial.  But  this  dreadful 
aggravation  of  the  injustice  was  not  generally  needed. 
The  system  ol  trial  was  the  most  corrupt  that  has 
ever  prevailed  under  European  civilization.  The 
composition  of  their  courts,  as  to  the  rank  of  the 
numerous  jury,  was  continually  changed :  but  no 
change  availed  to  raise  them  above  bribery.  The 
rules  of  evidence  were  simply  none  at  all.  Every 
hearsay,  erroneous  rumor,  atrocious  libel,  was  allowed 
to  be  offered  as  evidence.  Much  of  this  never  could 
be  repelled,  as  it  had  not  been  anticipated.  And, 
even  in  those  cases  where  no  bribery  was  attempted, 
the  issue  was  dependent,  almost  in  a  desperate  extent, 
upon  the  impression  made  by  the  advocate.  And 
finally  it  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  there  was  no  pre- 
siding judge,  in  our  sense  of  the  word,  to  sum  up  — 
to  mitigate  the  effect  of  arts  of  falsehood  in  the  advo- 
cate —  to  point  the  true  bearing  of  the  evidence  — 
still  less  to  state  and  to  restrict  the  law.  Law  there 
very  seldom  was  any,  in  a  precise  circumstantial  shape. 
The  verdict  might  be  looked  for  accordingly.  And  we 
do  not  scruple  to  say  —  that  so  triumphant  a  machinery 
of  oppression  has  never  existed,  no,  not  in  the  dungeons 
of  the  inquisition. 

III.  — The  license  of  public  lihelling.  Upon  this  we 
had  proposed  to  enlarge.  But  we  must  forbear.  One 
only  caution  we  must  impress  upon  the  reader  ;  he 
may  fancy  that  Cicero,  would  not  practise  or  defend 
in  others  the  absolut*^  abuse  of  confiience  tn  the  part 
i)f  the  jury  and  audience   by  employing   direct   falso* 


308  ClOEKO. 

hoods.  But  this  is  a  mistake.  Cicero,  in  his  justifi- 
cation of  the  artifices  used  at  the  bar,  evidently  goes 
the  whole  length  of  advising  the  emj)loyment  of  aL 
misstatements  whatsoever  which  wear  a  plausible  air. 
His  own  practice  leads  to  the  same  inference.  Not 
the  falsehood,  but  the  defect  of  probability,  is  what  in 
his  eyes  degrades  any  possible  assertion  or  Insinua- 
tion. And  he  holds  also  —  that  a  barrister  is  not 
accoimtable  for  the  frequent  self-contradictions  in 
which  he  must  be  thus  involved  at  different  periods  of 
tmie.  Th6  immediate  purpose  is  paramount  to  all 
extra-judicial  consequences  whatever,  and  to  all  subse- 
quent exposures  of  the  very  grossest  inconsistency  in 
the  most  calumnious  falsehoods. 

IV.  — The  morality  of  expediency  employed  by  Roman 
statesman.  The  regular  relief,  furnished  to  Kome 
under  the  system  of  anarchy  which  Caesar  proposed  to 
set  aside,  lay  in  seasonable  murders.  When  a  man 
grew  potent  in  political  annoyance,  somebody  was  em- 
ployed to  murder  him.  Never  was  there  a  viler  or 
better  established  murder  than  that  of  Clodius  by  Milo, 
or  that  of  Carbo  and  others  by  Pompey  when  a  young 
man,  acting  as  the  tool  of  Sylla.  Yet  these  and  the 
murders  of  the  two  Gracchi,  nearly  a  century  before 
Cicero  justifies  as  necessary.  So  little  progress  had 
law  and  sound  political  wisdom  then  made,  that  Cicero 
was  not  aware  of  anything  monstrous  in  pleading  for 
A  most  villanous  act  —  that  circumstances  had  made  it 
expedient.  Such  a  man  is  massacred,  and  Cicero 
appeals  to  all  your  natural  feelings  of  honor  against 
the  murderers.  Such  another  is  massacred  on  the  op* 
jjosite  side,  and  Cicero  thinks  it  quite  sufficient  to  repl» 


sou 


—  ♦  Oh,  but  I  assure  you  he  was  a  bad  man  —  I  knew 
him  to  be  a  bad  man.  And  it  was  his  duty  to  bp 
murdered  —  as  the  sole  service  he  could  render  the 
commonwealth.'  So  again,  in  common  with  all  his 
professional  brethren,  Cicero  never  scruples  to  ascribe 
the  foulest  lust  and  abominable  propensities  to  anr 
public  antagonist ;  never  asking  himself  any  questioi 
but  this  —  "Will  it  look  probable  ?  He  personallj 
^8^aped  such  slanders,  because  as  a  young  man  he  wai 
known  to  be  rather  poor,  and  very  studious.  But  in 
later  life  a  horrible  calumny  of  that  class  settled  upon 
himself,  and  one  peculiarly  shocking  to  his  parental 
grief ;  for  he  was  then  sorrowing  in  extremity  for  the 
departed  lady  who  had  been  associated  in  the  slander. 
Do  we  lend  a  moment's  credit  to  the  foul  insinuation  ? 
No.  But  we  see  the  equity  of  this  retribution  revolv- 
ing upon  one  who  had  so  often  slandered  others  in  the 
same  malicious  way.  At  last  the  poisoned  chalice 
vsLiae  round  to  his  own  lips,  and  at  a  moment  when  it 
wounded  the  most  acutely. 

V. — The  continued  repetition  of  convulsions  in  the 
itate.  Under  the  last  head  we  have  noticed  a  conse- 
quence of  the  long  Roman  anarchy  dreadful  enough  to 
contemplate,  viz.  the  necessity  of  murder  as  a  sole 
relief  to  the  extremities  continually  recurring,  and  as 
a  permanent  temptation  to  the  vitiation  of  all  moral 
ideas  in  the  necessity  of  defending  it  imposed  often 
upon  such  men  as  Cicero.  This  was  an  evil  which 
cannot  be  exaggerated  :  but  a  more  extensive  evil  lay 
1  the  recurrence  of  those  conspiracies  which  the  public 
■*aarchy  promoted.  We  have  all  been  deluded  upon 
^is  point.     The  conspiracy  of   Catiline,  to  those  who 


810  CICEHO. 

weigh  well  th3  mystery  still  enveloping  the  names  of 
Caesar,  of  the  Consiil  C.  Antonius,  and  others  suspected 
as  partial  accomplices  in  this  plot,  and  who  considei 
also  what  parties  were  the  exposers  or  mercilesa 
avengers  of  this  plot,  was  but  a  reiteration  of  the 
attempts  made  within  the  previous  fifty  years  by  Ma- 
rius,  Cinna,  Sylla,  and  finally  by  Caesar  and  by  his 
heir  Octavius,  to  raise  a  reformed  government,  safe 
and  stable,  upon  this  hideous  oligarchy  that  annually 
almost  brought  the  people  of  Rome  into  the  necessity 
of  a  war  and  the  danger  of  a  merciless  proscription. 
That  the  usual  system  of  fraudulent  falsehoods  wa^ 
offered  by  way  of  evidence  against  Catiline,  is  pretty 
obvious.  Indeed,  why  should  it  have  been  spared  .^ 
The  evidence,  in  a  lawyer's  sense,  is  after  all  none  at 
all.  The  pretended  revelations  of  foreign  envoys  go 
for  nothing.  These  could  have  been  suborned  most 
easily.  And  the  shocking  defect  of  the  case  is  —  that 
the  accused  party  were  never  put  on  their  defence, 
never  confronted  with  the  base  tools  of  the  accusers, 
and  the  senators  amongst  them  were  overwhelmed 
with  clamors  if  they  attempted  their  defence  in  the 
senate.  The  motive  to  this  dreadful  injustice  is  mani- 
fest. There  was  a  conspiracy  ;  that  we  do  not  doubt  ? 
and  of  the  same  nature  as  Caesar's.  Else  why  shoiild 
tjminent  men,  too  dangerous  for  Cicero  to  touch,  have 
Veen  implicated  in  the  obscurer  charges  ?  How  had 
they  any  interest  in  the  ruin  of  Rome  ?  How  had 
Catiline  any  interest  in  such  a  tragedy  ?  But  all  the 
grandees,  who  were  too  much  embarrassed  in  debt  to 
bear  the  means  of  profiting  by  the  machinery  of  bribes 
applied  to  so  vast  a  populace,  naturally  wished  to  place 
ihe  administration  of  public  affairs  en  another  footing 


CICEBO.  311 

nany  from  merely  selfish  purposes,  like  Cethegus  oi 
Lentulus  —  some,  we  doubt  not,  from  purer  motives 
of  enlarged  patriotism.  One  charge  against  Catiline 
we  may  quote  from  many,  as  having  tainted  the  most 
plausible  part  of  the  pretended  evidence  with  damna- 
tory suspicions.  The  reader  may  not  have  remarked 
—  bat  the  fact  is  such  — that  one  of  the  standing  arti- 
Qces  for  injuring  a  man  with  the  populace  of  Rome, 
when  all  other  arts  had  failed,  was  to  say,  that  amongst 
his  plots  was  one  for  burning  the  city.  This  cured 
that  indifference  with  which  otherwise  the  mob  listened 
to  stories  of  conspiracy  against  a  system  which  they 
held  in  no  reverence  or  affection.  Now,  this  most 
senseless  charge  was  renewed  against  Catiline.  It  is 
hardly  worthy  of  notice.  Of  what  value  to  him  could 
be  a  heap  of  ruins  ?  Or  how  could  he  hope  to  found 
an  influence  amongst  those  who  were  yet  reeking  from 
Buch  a  calamity  ? 

But,  in  reality,  this  conspiracy  was  that  effort  con- 
tinually moving  underground,  and  which  would  have 
continually  exploded  in  shocks  dreadful  to  the  quiet  of 
the  nation,  which  mere  necessity,  and  the  instincts  of 
position,  prompted  to  the  parties  interested.  Let  the 
reader  only  remember  the  long  and  really  ludicrous 
succession  of  men  sent  out  against  Antony  at  Mutina 
.^y  the  senate,  viz.  Octavius,  Plancus,  Asinius  PoUio, 
Lepidus,  every  one  of  whom  fell  away  almost  instantly 
lo  the  anti-senatorial  cause,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
consuls,  Hirtius  and  Pansa,  who  would  undoubtedly 
have  followed  the  general  precedent,  had  they  not  been 
killed  prematurely  :  and  it  will  become  apparent  how 
irresistible  this  popular  cause  was,  as  the  sole  introduc- 
tion to  a  patriotic  reformation,  ranged   too  notoriously 


512  CICERO. 

ai^aiiist  a  narrow  scheme  of  selfishness,  which  intereattd 
hardly  forty  families.  It  does  not  follow  that  all  men, 
simply  as  enemies  of  an  olio^archy,  would  have  after- 
wards exhibited  a  pure  patriotism.  Caesar,  however, 
did.  His  reforms,  even  before  his  Pompeian  struggle, 
svere  the  greatest  ever  made  by  an  individual  ;  and 
those  which  he  carried  through  after  that  struggle,  and 
durng  that  brief  term  which  his  murderers  allowed 
him,  transcended  by  much  all  that  in  any  one  centorj 
had  been  accomplished  by  the  collective  patriotism  of 
Borne. 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  ROMAN  HISTORY. 

It  would  be  thought  strange  indeed,  if  there  should 
txist  a  large,  a  memorable  section  of  history,  traversed 
by  many  a  scholar  with  various  objects,  reviewed 
by  many  a  reader  in  a  spirit  of  anxious  scrutiny,  and 
yet  to  this  hour  misunderstood ;  erroneously  appre- 
ciated ;  its  tendencies  mistaken,  and  its  whole  mean- 
ing, import,  value,  not  so  much  inadequately  —  aa 
falsely,  ignorantly,  perversely  —  deciphered.  Prima 
facie,  one  would  pronounce  this  impossible.  Never- 
theless it  is  a  truth ;  and  it  is  a  solemn  truth  ;  and 
what  gives  to  it  this  solemnity,  is  the  mysterious  mean- 
ing, the  obscure  hint  of  a  still  profounder  meaning  in 
the  background,  which  begins  to  dawn  upon  the  eye 
when  first  piercing  the  darkness  now  resting  on  the 
subject.  Perhaps  no  one  arc  or  segment,  detached 
from  the  total  cycle  of  human  records,  promises  so 
much  beforehand  —  so  much  instruction,  so  much 
gratification  to  curiosity,  so  much  splendor,  so  much 
depth  of  interest,  as  the  great  period  —  the  systole  and 
iiastole  flux  and  reflux — of  the  Western  Roman 
Empire.  Its  parentage  was  magnificent  and  Titanic. 
It  was  a  birth  out  of  the  death-struggles  of  the  colos- 
lal  republic  :   its  foundations  were  laid  by  that  sublime 


314  PHILOSOPHY    OF    KOMAX    HISTORY. 

dictator,  '  the  foremost  man  of  all  this  world/  who  was 
anquestionably  for  comprehensive  talents  the  Lucifer, 
the  Protagonist  of  all  antiquity.  Its  range,  the  com- 
pass of  its  extent,  Avas  appalling  to  the  imagination. 
Coming  last  amongst  what  are  called  the  great  mon- 
archies of  Prophecy,  it  was  the  only  one  which  realized 
in  perfection  the  idea  of  a  monarcTiia,  being  (excep*, 
for  Parthia  and  the  great  fable  of  India  beyond  it) 
strictly  coincident  with  »/  oixovfurri,  or  the  civilize^] 
world.  Civilization  and  this  empire  w»re  commensu- 
rate :  they  were  interchangeable  ideas,  and  co-exten- 
sive. Finally,  the  path  of  this  great  Empire,  through 
its  arch  of  progress,  synchronized  with  that  of  Chris- 
tianity :  the  ascending  orbit  of  each  was  pretty  nearly 
the  same,  and  traversed  the  same  series  of  generations. 
These  elements,  in  combination,  seemed  to  promise  a 
succession  of  golden  harvests :  from  the  specular  sta- 
tion of  the  Augustan  age,  the  eye  caught  glimpses  by 
anticipation  of  some  glorious  El  Dorado  for  human 
hopes.  What  was  the  practical  result  for  our  historic 
experience  ?  Answer  —  A  sterile  Zaarrah.  Preliba- 
tions,  as  of  some  heavenly  Adntage,  Avere  inhaled  by 
the  VirgUs  of  the  day  looking  forward  in  the  spirit  of 
prophetic  rapture  ;  whilst  in  the  very  sadness  of  truth, 
from  that  age  forwards  the  Roman  world  drank  from 
stagnant  marshes.  A  Paradise  of  roses  Avas  prefigured  : 
«  wilderness  of  thorns  was  found. 

Even  this  fact  has  been  missed  —  even  the  bare 
tact  has  been  overlooked  ;  much  more  the  causes.  tb« 
principles,  the  philosophy  of  this  fact.  The  rapi'i 
barbarism  which  closed  in  behind  Csesar's  chariot 
wheels,  has  been  hid  by  the  pomp  and  equipage  of 
the  imperial  court.     The  vast  power  and  domination 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    ROMAN    HISTORY.  315 

>f  the  Roman  empire,  for  the  three  centuries  which 
followed  the  battle  of  Actium,  have  dazzled  the  his- 
toric eye,  and  have  had  the  usual  reaction  on  the 
power  of  vision ;  a  dazzled  eye  is  always  left  in  a 
condition  of  darkness.  The  battle  of  Actium  was 
followed  by  the  final  conquest  of  Egypt.  That  con- 
quest rounded  and  integrated  the  glorious  empire ;  it 
was  now  circular  as  a  shield  —  orbicular  as  the  disk 
of  a  planet :  the  great  Julian  arch  was  now  locked 
into  the  cohesion  of  granite  by  its  last  key-stone. 
From  that  day  forward,  for  three  hundred  years,  there 
was  silence  in  the  world :  no  muttering  was  heard  : 
no  eye  winked  beneath  the  wing.  Winds  of  hostility 
might  still  rave  at  intervals :  but  it  was  on  the  outside 
of  the  mighty  empire  :  it  was  at  a  dream-like  dis- 
tance ;  and,  like  the  storms  that  beat  against  some 
monumental  castle,  'and  at  the  doors  and  windows 
seem  to  call,'  they  rather  irritated  and  vivified  the 
sense  of  security,  than  at  all  disturbed  its  luxurious 
lull. 

That  seemed  to  all  men  the  consummation  of  politi- 
cal ^visdom  —  the  ultimate  object  of  all  strife — the 
very  euthanasy  of  war.  Except  on  some  fabulous 
frontier,  armies  seemed  gay  pageants  of  the  Roman 
rank  rather  than  necessary  bulwarks  of  the  Roman 
power:  spear  and  shield  were  idle  trophies  of  the 
past :  '  the  trumpet  spoke  not  to  the  alarmed  throng.* 
Hush,  ye  palpitations  of  Rome !  was  the  cry  of  the 
Buperb  Aurelian,'*-''  from  his  far-off  pavilion  in  the 
leserts  of  the  Euphrates  —  Hush,  fluttering  heart  of 
the  eternal  city !  Fall  bark  into  slumber,  ye  wars, 
tnd  rumors  of  wars !  Turn  vinon  your  couches  of 
down,  ve  children  of  Romulus  —  sink  back  into  your 


316  PHILOSOPHY    OF    BOMAN    HISTOKT. 

roluptuous  repose :  We,  your  almighty  armies,  have 
phased  into  darkness  those  phantoms  that  had  broken 
your  dreams.  We  have  chased,  we  have  besieged, 
we  have  crucified,  we  have  slain.  '  Nihil  est,  Romulei 
Quirites,  quod  timere  possitis.  Ego  efficiam  ne  sil 
aliqua  solicitudo  Romana.  Vacate  ludis  —  vacate  cir- 
censibus.  Nos  publico,  necessitates  teneant :  vos  occU' 
pent  voluptates.'  Did  ever  Siren  warble  so  dulcet  a 
Bong  to  ears  already  prepossessed  and  medicated  with 
spells  of  Circean  effeminacy  ? 

But  in  this  world  all  things  re-act :  and  the  very 
extremity  of  any  force  is  the  seed  and  nucleus  of  a 
counter-agency.  You  might  have  thought  it  as  easy 
(m  the  words  of  Shakspeare)  to 

•  Wound  the  loud  winds,  or  with  be-mock'd-at  stabs 
Kill  the  still-closing  waters,' 

as  to  violate  the  majesty  of  the  imperial  eagle,  or  to 
ruffle  '  one  dowle  that's  in  his  plume.'  But  luxurious 
ease  is  the  surest  harbinger  of  pain  ;  and  the  dead  lulls 
of  tropical  seas  are  the  immediate  forerunners  of  tor- 
nadoes. The  more  absolute  was  the  security  obtained 
by  Caesar  for  his  people,  the  more  inevitable  was  his 
own  ruin.  Scarcely  had  Aurelian  sung  his  requiem  to 
the  agitations  of  Rome,  before  a  requiem  was  sung  by 
his  assassins  to  his  own  warlike  spirit.  Scarcely  had 
Probus,  another  Aurelian,  proclaimed  the  eternity  of 
oeace,  and,  by  way  of  attesting  his  own  martial  supre- 
macy, had  commanded  '  that  the  brazen  throat  of  war 
should  cease  to  roar,'  when  the  trumpets  of  the  foui 
windo  proclaimed  his  own  death  by  murder.  Not  as 
inything  extraordinary ;  for,  in  fact,  violent  death  — 
death  by  assassination  —  was  the  regular  portal  (th» 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    KOMAN    HISTOEY.  317 

porta  Libitina,  or  funeral  gate)  through  which  the 
Caesars  passed  out  of  this  world ;  and  to  die  in  their 
beds  was,  the  very  rare  exception  to  that  stem  rule  of 
fate.  Not,  therefore,  as  in  itself  at  ill  noticeable,  but 
because  this  particular  murder  of  Probus  stands  sceni- 
cally  contrasted  with  the  great  vision  of  Peace,  whicli 
he  fancied  as  lying  in  clear  revelation  before  him, 
permit  us,  before  we  proceed  with  our  argument,  to 
rehearse  his  golden  promises.  The  sabres  were 
already  unsheathed,  the  shirt-sleeves  were  already 
pushed  up  from  those  murderous  hands,  which  were 
to  lacerate  his  throat,  and  to  pierce  his  heart,  when  he 
ascended  the  Pisgah  from  which  he  descried  the  Satur- 
nian  ages  to  succeed  :  —  '  Brevi,'  said  he,  '  milites 
non  necessarios  habebimus.  Romanus  jam  miles  erit 
nullus.  Omnia  possidebimus.  Respublica  orbis  ier- 
rarum,  ubiqiie  secura,  non  arma  fabricabit.  Boves 
habebuntur  aratro :  equus  nascetur  ad  pacem.  Nulla 
irunt  bella :  nulla  captivitas.  TIbique  pax :  ubique 
Romana  leges:  ubique  jud ices  nostri.'  The  historian 
himself,  tame  and  creeping  as  he  is  in  his  ordinary 
^tyle,  warms  in  sympathy  with  the  Emperor:  his 
diction  blazes  up  into  a  sudden  explosion  of  prophetic 
grandeur:  and  he  adopts  all  the  views  of  Ceesar. 
'Nonne  omnes  barbaras  nationes  subjecerat  pedibus?' 
he  demands  with  lyrical  tumult :  and  then,  while  coq- 
fcssing  the  immediate  disappointment  of  his  hopes, 
thus  repeats  the  great  elements  of  the  public  felicity 
whenever  they  should  be  realized  by  a  Ca?sar  equally 
martial  for  others,  but  more  fortunate  for  himself:  — 
^ternos  thesauros  habere t  Romana  respublica.  Nihit 
■■cpenderetur  a  principe ;  nihil  a  possessore  redderztur. 
Aureum  profeclo    seculum  proviittebat.     Nulla  futuro 


318  PHILOSOPHY    OF    ROMAN    HISTORY. 

trant  castra :  misquam  lituus  audiendus :  arma  nan 
erant  fabricanda.  Populus  iste  mililantium,  qui  nunc 
hellis  civilihus  Remfuhlicam  vexat '  —  aye  !  how  was 
that  to  be  absorbed  ?  How  would  that  vast  crowd  of 
half-pay  emeriti  employ  itself  ?  ^Araret :  studiis  in- 
cumheret :  erudiretur  artihas :  navigaret.'  And  he 
closes  his  prophetic  raptures  thus  :  '  Adde  qux)d  nullum 
occideretur  in  bello.  Dii  boni  !  quid  tandem  vos  offen- 
deret  Respublicd  Romand,  cut  talein  principem  sustu- 
listis?' 

Even  in  his  lamentations,  it  is  clear  that  he  mourns 
as  for  a  blessing  delayed  —  not  finally  denied.  The 
land  of  promise  still  lay,  as  before,  in  steady  vision 
below  his  feet ;  only  that  it  waited  for  some  happier 
Augustus,  who,  in  the  great  lottery  of  Caesarian  desti- 
nies, might  happen  to  draw  the  rare  prize  of  a  pros- 
perous reign  not  prematurely  blighted  by  the  assassin ; 
with  whose  purple  alourgis  might  mingle  no  fascice  of 
crape  —  with  whose  imperial  laurels  might  entwine  no 
ominous  cypress.  The  hope  of  a  millennial  armistice, 
of  an  eternal  rest  for  the  earth,  was  not  dead :  once 
again  only,  and  for  a  time,  it  was  sleeping  in  abeyance 
and  expectation.  That  blessing,  that  millennial  bless- 
ing, it  seems,  might  be  the  gift  of  Imperial  Rome. 

II.  —  Well :  and  why  not  ?  the  reader  demands. 
What  have  we  to  say  against  it  ?  This  Caesar,  or  that 
historian,  may  have  carried  his  views  a  little  too  far, 
»r  too  prematurely ;  yet,  after  all,  the  very  enormity 
of  what  they  promised  must  be  held  to  argue  the  enor- 
mity of  what  had  been  accomplished.  To  give  any 
plausibility  to  a  scheme  of  perpetual  peace,  war  must 
«Iready  have  become  rare,  and  must  have  been  bai> 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    KOMAN    HISTOKY.  319 

Ished  to  a  prodigious  distance.  It  was  no  longer  the 
hearths  and  the  altars,  home  and  religious  worship, 
which  quaked  under  the  tumults  of  war.  It  was  the 
purse  which  suffered  —  the  exchequer  of  the  state ; 
secondly,  the  exchequer  of  each  individual ;  thirdly, 
and  in  the  end,  the  interests  of  agriculture,  of  com- 
merce, of  navigation.  This  is  what  the  historian  indi- 
cates, in  promising  his  brother  Romans  that  '  omnia 
possidebimus  : '  by  which,  perhaps,  he  did  not  mean  to 
lay  the  stress  on  '  omnia,'  as  if,  in  addition  to  their  own 
property,  they  were  to  have  that  of  alien  or  frontier 
nations,  but  (laying  the  stress  on  the  word  possidebi- 
mus) meant  to  say,  with  regard  to  property  already 
their  own  —  '  We  shall  no  longer  hold  it  as  joint  pro- 
prietors with  the  state,  and  as  liable  to  fluctuating 
taxation,  but  shall  henceforwards  possess  it  in  absolute 
«xclusive  property.'  This  is  what  he  indicates  in 
4aying  —  Boves  habehuntur  aratro  :  that  is,  the  oxen, 
one  and  all  available  for  the  plough,  shall  no  longer 
be  open  to  the  everlasting  claims  of  the  'pvibWc  frumen- 
tarii  for  conveying  supplies  to  the  frontier  armies. 
This  is  what  he  indicates  in  saying  of  the  individual 
liable  to  military  service  —  that  he  should  no  longer 
live  to  slay  or  to  be  slain,  for  barren  bloodshed  or 
violence,  but  that  henceforth  '  araret,'  or  '  navigaret.' 
V.11  these  passages,  by  pointing  the  expectations  em- 
hatically  to  benefits  of  purse  exonerated,  and  industry 
emancipated,  sufficiently  argue  the  class  of  interests 
vhich  then  suffered  by  war :  that  it  was  the  interests 
f  private  property,  of  agricultural  improvement,  of 
._mmercial  industry,  upon  which  exclusively  fell  the 
evils  of  a  belligerent  state  under  the  Roman  empire  :  and 
.here  already  lies  a  mighty  blessing  achieved  for  social 


320  PHILOSOPHY    OF    EOMAN    HISTOKY. 

Bxistence  —  when  sleep  is  made  sacred,  and  thresnolda 
Bijcure ;  when  the  temple  of  human  life  is  safe,  and  the 
temple  of  female  honor  is  hallowed.  These  great 
interests,  it  is  admitted,  were  sheltered  under  the 
mighty  dome  of  the  Reman  empire :  that  is  ahead} 
an  advance  made  towards  the  highest  civilization :  and 
this  is  not  shaken  because  a  particular  emperor  should 
bo  extravagant,  or  a  particular  historian  romantic. 

No,  certainly :  but  stop  a  moment  at  this  point. 
Civilization,  to  the  extent  of  security  for  life,  and  tbe 
primal  rights  of  man,  necessarily  grows  out  of  every 
strong  government.  And  it  follows  also  —  that,  as 
this  government  widens  its  sphere  —  as  it  pushes  back 
its  frontiers,  ultra  et  Garamantas  et  Indos,  in  that  pro- 
portion will  the  danger  diminish  (for  in  fact  the  possi- 
bility diminishes)  of  foreign  incursions.  The  sense  of 
permanent  security  from  conquest,  or  from  the  inroad 
of  marauders,  must  of  course  have  been  prodigiously 
increased  when  the  nearest  standing  army  of  Romf 
was  beyond  the  Tigris  and  the  Inn  —  as  compared  with 
those  times  when  Carthage,  Spain,  Gaul,  Macedon, 
presented  a  ring-fence  of  venomous  rivals,  and  when 
every  little  nook  in  the  eastern  Mediterranean  swarmed 
with  pirates.  Thus  far,  inevitably,  the  Roman  police, 
planting  one  foot  of  his  golden  compasses  in  the  same 
eternal  centre,  and  with  the  other  describing  an  arch 
continually  wider,  must  have  banished  all  idea  of  pub- 
lic enemies,  and  have  deepened  the  sense  of  secnnij 
be}ond  calculation.  Thus  far  we  have  the  benefits  of 
police  ;  and  those  are  amongst  the  earliest  blessingb 
of  civilization  ;  and  they  are  one  indispensable  con- 
ditio a —  what  in  logic  is  called  the  conditio  sine  qua 
non   for  all  the  othei   blessings.     But  that,  in  othe* 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    ROMAX    HISTOKY.  321 

words,  is  a  negative  cause^  (a  cause  which,  being  absent, 
the  effect  is  absent;)  but  not  the  positive  cause,  (or 
caiisa  sitfficiens,)  which,  being  present,  the  effect  will 
be  present.  The  security  of  the  Roman  empire  was 
the  indispensable  condition,  but  not  in  itself  a  sufficient 
cause  of  those  other  elements  which  compose  a  true 
civilization.  Rome  was  the  centre  of  a  high  police, 
which  radiated  to  Parthia  eastwards,  to  Britt»in  west- 
wards, but  not  of  a  high  civilization. 

On  the  contrary,  what  we  maintain  is  —  that  the 
Roman  civilization  was  imperfect  ah  intra  —  imperfect 
in  its  central  principle ;  was  a  piece  of  watchwork  that 
began  to  go  down  —  to  lose  its  spring  ;  and  was  slowly 
retrograding  to  a  dead  stop,  from  the  very  moment 
that  it  had  completed  its  task  of  foreign  conquest :  that 
it  was  kept  going  from  the  very  first  by  strong  reac- 
tion and  antagonism  :  that  it  fell  into  torpor  from  the 
moment  when  this  antagonism  ceased  to  operate  ;  that 
thenceforwards  it  oscillated  backwards  violently  to  bar- 
arisra  :  that,  left  to  its  own  principles  of  civilization, 
e  Roman  empire  was  barbarizing  rapidly  from  the 
time  of  Trajan :  that  abstracting  from  all  alien  agen- 
cies whatever,  whether  accelerating  or  retarding,  and 
supposing  Western  Rome  to  have  been  thrown  exclu- 
sively upon  the  resources  and  elasticity  of  her  own 
proper  civilization,  she  was  crazy  and  superannuated 
by  the  time  of  Commodus  —  must  soon  have  gone  to 
pieces  —  must  have  foundered  ;  and,  under  any  possible 
benefit  from  favorable  accidents  co-operating  with  alien 
V)rce3.  could  not,  by  any  great  term,  have  retarded  thai 
doom  which  was  written  on  her  drooping  energies,  pre- 
scribed by  internal  decay,  and  not  at  all  (as  is  univer- 
laily  imagined)  by  external  assault. 
21 


322  PHILOSOPHY    OF    ROMAN    HISIORY. 

III.  — '  Barbarizing  rapidly  ! '  the  reader  murmiirg 
— '  Barbarism !  Oh,  yes,  I  remember  the  Barbariana 
broke  in  upon  the  Western  Empire  — the  Ostrogoths, 
Visigotlis,  Vandals,  Burgundians,  Huns,  Heruli,  and 
Bwarms  beside.  These  wretches  had  no  taste  —  no 
literature,  probably  very  few  ideas ;  and  naturally  they 
barbarized  and  rebarbarized  wherever  they  moved.  But 
surely  the  writer  errs :  this  inflvs  of  barbarism  Avas 
not  in  Trajan's  time  at  the  very  opening  of  the  second 
century  from  Christ,  but  throughout  the  fifth  century.' 
No,  reader  ;  it  is  not  we  who  err,  but  you.  These  were 
not  the  barbarians  of  Rome.  That  is  the  miserable 
fiction  of  Italian  vanity,  always  stigmatizing  better  men 
than  themselves  by  the  name  of  barbarians  ;  and  in  fact 
we  all  know,  that  to  be  an  ultramontane  is  with  them 
to  be  a  barbarian.  The  horrible  charge  against  the 
Greeks  of  old,  viz.,  that  sua  tantum  mirantur,  a  charge 
implying  in  its  objects  the  last  descent  of  narrow  sensi- 
bility and  of  illiterate  bigotry,  in  modern  times  has  been 
true  only  of  two  nations,  and  those  two  are  the  French 
and  the  Italians.  But,  waiving  the  topic,  we  affirm  — 
and  it  is  the  purpose  of  our  essay  to  affirm  —  that  the 
barbarism  of  Rome  grew  out  of  Rome  herself;  that 
these  pretended  barbarians  —  Gothic,  Vandalish,***  Lom- 
bard —  or  by  whatever  name  known  to  modern  history 
—  were  in  reality  the  restorers  and  regenerators  of  the 
»fFete  Roman  intellect ;  that,  but  for  them,  the  indige- 
nous Italian  would  probably  have  died  out  in  scrofula, 
madness,  leprosy ;  that  the  sixth  or  seventh  century 
would  have  seen  the  utter  extinction  of  these  Italian 
^iruTbrugs ;  for  which  opinion,  if  it  were  important,  we 
?ould  show  cause.  But  it  is  much  less  important  tc 
ihow  cause  in   behalf  of  this  negative  proposition  — 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    KOMAN    HISTOKT.  323 

that  the  Goths  and  Vandals  were  not  the  barbarians  of 
khe  western  empire '  —  than  in  behalf  of  this  affirma- 
tive proposition,  '  that  the  Romans  were.'  We  do  not 
wish  to  overlay  the  subject,  but  simply  to  indicate  a 
few  of  the  many  evidences  which  it  is  in  our  power  to 
adduce.  We  mean  to  rely,  for  the  present,  upon  four 
arguments,  as  exponents  of  the  barbarous  and  barbar- 
izing tone  of  feeling,  which,  like  so  much  moss  or 
lichens,  had  gradually  overgrown  the  Roman  mind, 
and  by  the  third  century  had  strangled  all  healthy 
vegetation  of  natural  and  manly  thought.  During  this 
third  century  it  was,  in  its  latter  half,  that  most  of 
the  Augustan  history  was  probably  composed.  Laying 
aside  the  two  Victors,  Dion  Cassius,  Ammianus  Marcel- 
linus,  and  a  few  more  indirect  notices  of  history  during 
this  period,  there  is  little  other  authority  for  the  annals 
of  the  Western  Empire  than  this  Augustan  history ; 
and  at  all  events,  this  is  the  chief  well-head  of  that 
history  ;  hither  we  must  resort  for  most  of  the  personal 
biography,  and  the  portraiture  of  characters  connected 
with  that  period ;  and  here  only  we  find  the  regular 
series  of  princes  —  the  whole  gallery  of  Caesars,  from 
Trajan  to  the  immediate  predecessor  of  Dioclesian. 
The  composition  of  this  work  has  been  usually  distri- 
buted amongst  six  authors,  viz.,  Spartian,  Capitolinus, 
Lampridius,  Volcatius  Gallicanus,  Trebellius  Pollio, 
and  Vopiscus.  Their  several  shares,  it  is  true,  have 
been  much  disputed  to  and  fro  ;  and  other  questions 
have  been  raised,  affecting  the  very  existence  of  some 
imongst  them.  Bu*  all  this  is  irrelevant  to  our  present 
purpose,  which  applies  to  the  work,  but  not  at  all  to 
khe  writers,  excepting  in  sc  far  as  they  (by  whatever 
oaincs  k'^own)  were  notoriously  and  demonst'-ably  per- 


324  PHILOSOPHY    OF    ROMAN    HI8T0KT. 

Bc»ns  belonging  to  that  era,  trained  in  Roman  habits  of 
thinking,  connected  with  the  court,  intimate  with  the 
great  Palatina  officers,  and  therefore  presumably  men 
of  rank  and  education.  We  rely,  in  so  far  as  we 
rely  at  all  upon  this  work,  upon  these  two  among  its 
characteristic  features  :  1st,  Upon  the  quality  and  style 
of  its  biographic  notices ;  2dly,  Upon  the  remarkable 
uncertainty  which  hangs  over  all  lives  a  little  removed 
from  the  personal  cognizance  or  immediate  era  of  the 
writer.  But  as  respects,  not  the  history,  but  the  sub- 
jects of  the  history,  we  rely,  3dly,  Upon  the  peculiar 
traits  of  feeling  which  gradually  began  to  disfigure  the 
ideal  conception  of  the  Roman  Caesar  in  the  minds  of 
his  subjects  ;  4thly,  Without  reference  to  the  Augustan 
history,  or  to  the  subjects  of  that  history,  we  rely 
generally,  for  establishing  the  growing  barbarism  of 
Rome,  upon  the  condition  of  the  Roman  literature  after 
the  period  of  the  first  twelve  Caesars. 

IV.  —  First  of  all,  we  infer  the  increasing  barbaiism 
of  the  Roman  mind  from  the  quality  of  the  personal 
notices  and  portraitures  exhibited  throughout  these 
biographical  records.  The  whole  may  be  described  by 
one  word  —  anecdotage.  It  is  impossible  to  conceive 
the  dignity  of  history  more  degraded  than  by  the  petty 
nature  of  the  anecdotes  which  compose  the  bulk  of  the 
communications  about  every  Caesar,  good  or  bad,  great 
or  little.  They  are  not  merely  domestic  and  purely 
personal,  when  they  ought  to  have  been  Caesarian, 
\iigustan,  imperatorial  —  they  pursue  Caesar  not  only 
«j  his  fireside,  but  into  his  bed-chamber,  into  his  bath, 
into  his  cabinet,  nay,  even  {sit  honor  auribus !)  into 
his   cabinet  d'aisance  ;  not  merely   into   the   Palatin 


PHILOSOPHY    01     BJMAN    HISTORY.  325 

closet,  but  into  the  Palatine  water-closet.  Thus  of 
Heliogabalus  we  are  told  —  '  onus  ventris  auro  excepit 

—  minxit  myrrhinis  et  onychinis ; '  that  is,  Caesar's 
lasanum  was  made  of  gold,  and  his  matula  was  made 
of  onyx,  or  of  the  undetermined  myrrhine  material. 
And  so  on,  with  respect  to  the  dresses  of  Caesar ;  — 
how  many  of  every  kind  he  wore  in  a  week  —  of 
what  material  they  were  made  —  with  what  orna- 
ments.    So  again,  with  respect  to  the  meals  of  Caesar; 

—  what  dishes,  what  condiments,  what  fruits,  what 
confection  prevailed  at  each  course  ;  what  wines  he 
preferred ;  how  many  glasses  {cyathos)  he  usually 
drank,  whether  he  drank  more  when  he  was  angry  ; 
whether  he  diluted  his  wine  with  water  ;  half-and-hall, 
or  how  ?  Did  he  get  drunk  often  ?  How  many  times 
a  week  ?  What  did  he  generally  do  when  he  was 
drunk  ?  How  many  chemises  did  he  allow  to  his  ^vife  ^ 
How  were  they  fringed  ?     At  what  cost  per  chemise  ? 

In  this  strain  —  how  truly  worthy  of  the  childi-en  of 
Romulus  —  how  becoming  to  the  descendants  from 
Scipio  Africanus,  from  Paulus  ^mUius,  from  the  co- 
lossal Marius  and  the  godlike  Julius  —  the  whole  of 
the  Augustan  history  moves.  There  is  a  superb  line 
in  Lucan  which  represents  the  mighty  phantom  of 
Paulus  standing  at  a  banquet  to  reproach  or  to  alarm  — 

*  Et  Pauli  ingentem  stare  miraberis  umbram  !  ' 

What  a  horror  would  have  seized  this  Augustan  scrib- 
Her,  this  Rom&,n  Tims,  if  he  could  have  seen  thia 
'  mighty  phantom '  at  his  elbow  looking  over  his  inani- 
ties ;  ind  what  a  horror  would  have  seized  the  phan- 
tom !  Once,  in  the  course  of  his  aulic  memorabilia, 
the  writer  is  struck  with  a  sudJcn  glimpse  of  such  an 


326  "HiLosopiiy  of  uoman  history. 

idea  ;  and  he  reproaches  himself  for  recording  sucb 
infinite  littleness.  After  reporting  some  anecdotes,  in 
the  usual  Augustan  style,  about  an  Imperial  rebel,  aa 
for  instance  that  he  had  ridden  upon  ostriches,  (which 
he  says  was  the  next  thing  to  flying ;  )  that  he  had  eaten 
a  dish  of  boiled  hippopotamus  ;^  and  that,  having  a 
fancy  for  tickling  the  catastrophes  of  crocodiles,  he 
had  anointed  himself  with  crocodile  fat,  by  which 
means  he  humbugged  the  crocodiles,  ceasing  to  be 
Caesar,  and  passing  for  a  crocodile  —  swimming  and 
playing  amongst  them  ;  these  glorious  facts  being  re- 
corded, he  goes  on  to  say  — '  Sed  hcec  scire  quid  pro- 
dest  ?  Cum  et  Liinus  et  Salhistiv^  taceant  res  leves 
de  iis  quorum  vitas  scribendas  arripuerint.  Non  enim 
scimus  quales  mulos  Clodiu^s  habuerit ;  nee  utrum  Tusco 
equo  sederit  Catilina  an  Sardo ;  vel  quali  chlamyde 
Pompeius  usus  fuerit^  an  purpura.'  No  :  we  do  not 
know.  Livy  would  have  died  'in  the  high  Roman 
J^shion'  before  he  would  have  degraded  himself,  by 
such  babble  of  nursery-maids,  or  of  palace  pimps  and 
eaves-droppers. 

But  it  is  too  evident  that  babble  of  this  kind  grew  up 
not  by  any  accident,  but  as  a  natural  growth,  and  by  a 
sort  of  physical  necessity,  from  the  condition  of  the 
Roman  mind  after  it  had  ceased  to  be  excited  by  op- 
position in  foreign  nations.  It  was  not  merely  tho 
extinction  of  republican  institutions  which  operated, 
(that  might  operate  as  a  co-cause,)  but,  had  these 
institutions  even  survived,  the  unresisted  energies  of 
the  Roman  mind,  having  no  purchase,  nothing  to  push 
against,  would  have  collapsed.  The  eagle,  of  all 
birds,  would  be  the  first  to  flutter  and  sink  plumb 
down,  if  the  atmosphere  should  make  no  resistaof*'"  u« 


rniLOSOPHY    OF    EOMAN    HISTORY.  327 

his  wiogs.  The  first  Roman  of  note  wlic  began  this 
Bystem  of  anecdotage  was  Suetonius.  In  him  the 
poison  of  the  degradation  was  much  diluted,  by  the 
strong  remembrances,  still  surviving,  of  the  mighty 
republic.  The  glorious  sunset  was  still  bm'ning  Avith 
gold  and  orange  lights  in  the  west.  True,  the  disease 
had  commenced  ;  but  the  habits  of  health  were  still 
strong  for  restraint  and  for  conflict  with  its  power. 
Besides  that,  Suetonius  graces  his  minutiae,  and  em- 
balms them  in  amber,  by  the  exquisite  finish  of  his 
rhetoric.  But  his  case,  coming  so  early  among  the 
Caesarian  annals,  is  sufficient  to  show  that  the  growth 
of  such  history  was  a  spontaneous  growth  from  the 
rircumstances  of  the  empire,  viz.  from  the  total  col- 
lapse of  all  public  antagonism. 

The  next  literature  in  which  the  spirit  of  anecdotage 
arose  was  that  of  France.  From  the  age  of  Louis 
Treize,  or  perhaps  of  Henri  Quatre,  to  the  Revolution, 
this  species  of  chamber  memoirs  —  this  eaves-dropping 
biography  —  prevailed  so  as  to  strangle  authentic  his- 
tory. The  parasitical  plant  absolutely  killed  the  sup- 
porting tree.  And  one  remark  we  will  venture  to 
make  on  that  fact ;  the  French  literature  would  have 
been  killed,  and  the  national  mind  reduced  to  the 
strulbrug  condition,  had  it  not  been  for  the  situation  of 
France  amongst  other  great  kingdoms,  making  her 
liable  to  potent  reactions  from  them.  The  Memoirs 
of  France,  that  is,  the  valet-de-chambre's  archives  sub- 
stituted for  the  statesman's,  the  ambassador's,  ihe 
§o'dier's,  the  politican's,  would  have  extinguished  all 
other  historic  composition,  as  in  fact  they  nearly  did, 
;)ut  for  the  insulation  of  France  amongst  nations  with 
tooro  masculine  habits  of  thought.    That  saved  France 


328  PHILOSOPHY    OF    ROMAN    HISTOKT- 

Rome  had  no  such  advantage  ;  and  Rome  gave  way 
The  props,  the  buttresses,  of  the  Roman  mteilect,  were 
all  cancered  and  honeycombed  by  this  dry-rot  in  hei 
political  energies.  One  excuse  there  is  ;  storms  yield 
tragedies  for  the  historian  ;  the  dead  calms  of  a  uni- 
versal monarchy  leave  him  little  but  personal  memo- 
randa. In  such  a  case  he  is  nothing,  if  he  is  not 
anecdotical. 

V.  —  Secondly,  we  infer  the  barbarism  of  Rome, 
and  the  increasing  barbarism,  from  the  inconceivable 
ignorance  which  prevailed  throughout  the  "Western 
Empire,  as  to  the  most  interesting  public  facts  that 
were  not  taken  down  on  the  spot  by  a  tachygraphus  or 
short-hand  reporter.  Let  a  few  years  pass,  and  every- 
thing was  forgotten  about  e^'erybody.  Within  a  few 
years  after  the  death  of  Aurelian,  though  a  kind  of 
«aint  amongst  the  armies  and  the  populace  of  Rome, 
(for  to  the  Senate  he  was  odious,)  no  person  could  tell 
who  was  the  Emperor's  mother,  or  where  she  lived  ; 
though  she  must  have  been  a  woman  of  station  and 
notoriety  in  her  lifetime,  having  been  a  high  priestess 
&t  some  temple  unknown.  Alexander  Severus,  a  very 
interesting  Caesar,  who  recalls  to  an  Englishman  the 
idea  of  his  own  Edward  the  Sixth,  both  as  a  prince 
equally  amiable,  equally  disposed  to  piety,  equally  to 
reforms,  and  because,  like  Edward,  he  was  so  placed 
with  respect  to  the  succession  and  position  of  his  reign, 
between  unnatural  monsters  and  bloody  exterminators, 
as  to  reap  all  the  benefit  of  contrast  and  soft  relief ;  — 
this  Alexander  was  assassinated.  That  was  of  course. 
But  still,  though  the  fact  was  of  course,  the  motives 
>)ften  varied,  and  the  circumstances  varied ;  and  the 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    ROMAN    HISTOBY.  321; 

reader  would  be  glad  to  know,  in  Shakspeare's  lan- 
guage, '  for  which  of  his  virtues '  it  was  deemed 
requisite  to  murder  him  ;  as  also,  if  it  would  not  be 
too  much  trouble  to  the  historian,  who  might  be  the 
murderers  ;  and  what  might  be  their  rank,  and  their 
uames,  and  their  recompense  —  whether  a  halter  or  a 
palace.  But  nothing  of  all  this  can  be  learned.  And 
why  ?  All  had  been  forgotten.^ '  Lethe  had  sent  all 
her  waves  over  the  whole  transaction ;  and  the  man 
who  wrote  within  thirty  years,  found  no  vestige  recov- 
erable of  the  imperial  murder  more  than  you  or  we, 
reader,  would  find  at  this  day,  if  we  should  search  for 
fragments  of  that  imperial  tent  in  which  the  murder 
happened.  Again,  with  respect  to  the  princes  who 
succeeded  immediately  to  their  part  of  the  Augustan 
history  now  surviving,  princes  the  most  remarkable, 
and  cardinal  to  the  movement  of  history,  viz.,  Dio- 
clesian  and  Constantine,  many  of  the  weightiest  trans- 
actions in  their  lives  are  Avashed  out  as  by  a  sponge. 
Did  Dioclesian  hang  himself  in  his  garters  ?  or  did  he 
die  in  his  bed  ?  Nobody  knows.  And  if  Dioclesian 
hanged  himself,  why  did  Dioclesian  hang  himself? 
Nobody  can  guess.  Did  Constantine,  again,  marry  a 
second  wife  ?  —  did  this  second  wife  fall  in  love  with 
her  step-son  Crispus  ?  —  did  she,  in  resentment  of  hia 
scorn,  bear  false  witness  against  him  to  his  father  ?  — 
did  his  father,  in  consequence,  put  him  to  death  ? 
What  an  awful  domestic  tragedy  !  —  was  it  true  ? 
Nobody  knows.  On  the  one  hand,  Eusebius  does  not 
80  much  as  allude  to  it ;  but,  on  the  other  hand, 
Susebius  had  his  golden  reasons  for  favoring  Constan- 
tine, and  this  was  a  matter  to  be  hushed  up  rathei 
nan  blazoned.     Tell  it  not  in  Gath  ;     Publish  it  not 


B30  PHILOSOPHf     OF    ROMAN    HISTOET. 

in  Askelon!  Then  again,  on  the  one  hand,  the  tale 
seems  absolutely  a  leaf  torn  out  of  the  Hippolytus  of 
Euripides.  It  is  the  identical  story,  only  the  name 
is  changed ;  Constantine  is  Theseus,  his  new  wife,  is 
Phaedra,  Crispus  is  Hippolytus.  So  far  it  seems  rank 
\<nth  forgery.  Yet  again,  on  the  other  hand,  such  a 
duplicate  did  hondjide  occur  in  modern  history.  Such 
a  domestic  tragedy  was  actually  rehearsed,  with  one 
unimportant  change ;  such  a  leaf  was  positively  torn 
out  of  Euripides.  Philip  II.  played  the  part  of  Theseus, 
Don  Carlos  the  part  of  Hippolytus,  and  the  Queen 
filled  the  situation  (Avithout  the  animus^  of  Phaedra. 
Again,  therefore,  one  is  reduced  to  blank  ignorance, 
and  the  world  will  never  know  the  true  history  of  the 
Caesar  who  first  gave  an  establishment  and  an  earthly 
throne  to  Christianity,  because  history  had  slept  the 
sleep  of  death  before  that  Caesar's  time,  and  because 
the  great  muse  of  history  had  descended  from  Parnas- 
sus, and  was  running  about  Caesar's  palace  in  the  bed- 
gown and  slippers  of  a  chambermaid. 

Many  hundred  of  similar  lacunce  we  could  assign, 
with  regard  to  facts  the  most  indispensable  to  be 
known  ;  but  we  must  hurry  onwards.  Meantime,  let 
the  reader  contrast  with  this  dearth  of  primary  facts 
5n  the  history  of  the  empire,  and  their  utter  extinction 
after  even  the  lapse  of  twenty  years,  the  extreme  cir- 
cumstantiality of  the  republican  history,  through  many 
centuries  back. 

VI.  —  Thirdly,  we  infer  the  growing  barbarism  of 
Rome,  that  is,  of  the  Roman  people,  as  well  as  the 
Roman  armies,  from  the  brutal,  bloody,  and  Tartar 
style  of  their  festal  exultations  after  victory,  and  the 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    ROAIAX    HISTORY.  331 

Moloch  sort  of  character,  and  functions  with  which 
they  gradually  invested  their  great  Sultan,  the  Caesar. 
One  of  the  hallisteia,  that  is,  the  ballets  or  dances 
carried  through  scenes  and  representative  changes, 
which  were  performed  by  the  soldiery  and  by  the 
mobs  of  Rome  upon  occasion  of  any  triumplal  dis- 
play, has  been  preserved,  in  so  far  as  relates  to  the 
words  which  accompanied  the  performance ;  for  there 
was  always  a  verbal  accompaniment  to  the  choral  parts 
of  the  hallisteia.     These  words  ran  thus  :  — 

*  Mille,  mille,  inillc,  mille,  mille,  millu,  [six  times  repeated]  deco.lavimas 
Unue  homo  mille,  mille,  mille,  mil!e,  [four  times]  decollavit 
Mille,  milli!,  mille,  vivat  annos,  qui  mille,  mille  occidit 
Tantum  vini  habet  nemo,  quaiituin  Ccesuc  fudit  sanguinis.* 

And  again,  a  part  of  a  ballisteion  runs  thus :  — 

'  Mille  Francos,  mille  Sarmatas,  semel  occidimis  : 
Mille,  mille,  mille,  mille,  mille,  Persas  querimus.' 

But,  in  reality,  the  national  mind  was  convulsed 
and  revolutionized  by  many  causes ;  and  we  may  be 
assured  that  it  must  have  been  so,  both  as  a  cause  and 
as  an  effect,  before  that  mind  could  have  contemplated 
v/ith  steadiness  the  fearful  scene  of  Turkish  murder 
and  bloodshed  going  on  forever  in  high  places.  The 
palace  floors  in  Rome  actually  rocked  and  quaked  with 
assassination  :  snakes  were  sleeping  forever  beneath 
the  flowers  and  palms  of  empire  :  the  throne  was 
built  upon  coflins :  and  any  Christian  who  had  read 
the  A  pocalypse,  whenever  he  looked  at  the  altar  conse- 
crated to  Caesar,  on  which  the  sacred  fire  was  burning 
forever  in  the  Augustan  halls,  must  have  seen  below 
Jhem  '  the  souls  of  those  who  had  been  martyred,'  and 
faave  fancied  that  he  heard  them  crying  out  to  the 
ingel  of  retribution  —  How  long  ?  O  Lord  I  ho^ 
long  > ' 


832  PHIIiOSOPHY    OF    KOMAN    HISTOKT. 

Gibbon  has  left  us  a  description,  not  very  powerful, 
af  a  case  wbich  is  all-powerful  of  itself,  and  needs  no 
expansion,  —  the  case  of  a  state  criminal  vainly  at- 
tempting to  escape  or  liide  himself  from  Caesar  — 
from  the  arm  wrapped  in  clouds,  and  stretching  over 
kingdoms  alike,  or  oceans,  that  arrested  and  drew 
back  the  wretch  to  judgment  —  from  the  inevitable  eye 
that  slept  not  nor  slumbered,  and  from  which,  neither 
Alps  interposing,  nor  immeasurable  deserts,  nor  track- 
less seas,  nor  a  four  months'  flight,  nor  perfect  inno- 
cence could  screen  him.  The  world  —  the  world  of 
civilization,  was  Caesar's  :  and  he  who  fled  from  the 
wrath  of  Caesar,  said  to  himself,  of  necessity  —  'If  I 
go  down  to  the  sea,  there  is  Caesar  on  the  shore  ;  if  I 
go  into  the  sands  of  Bilidulgerid,  there  is  Caesar  Avail- 
ing for  me  in  the  desert ;  if  I  take  the  wings  of  the 
morning,  and  go  to  the  utmost  recesses  of  wild  beasts, 
there  is  Caesar  before  me.'  All  this  msxkes  the  con- 
dition of  a  criminal  under  the  Western  Empire  terriflc, 
and  the  condition  even  of  a  subject  perilous.  But  how 
strange  it  is,  or  would  be  so,  had  Gibbon  been  a  man 
of  more  sensibility,  that  he  should  have  overlooked 
the  converse  of  the  case,  viz.,  the  terrific  condition  of 
Caesar,  amidst  the  terror  which  he  caused  to  others. 
In  fact,  both  conditions  were  full  of  despair.  But  Cae- 
sar's was  the  worst,  by  a  great  pre-eminence  ;  for  the 
state  criminal  could  not  be  made  such  without  his  own 
concurrence ;  for  one  moment,  at  least,  it  had  been 
within  his  choice  to  be  no  criminal  at  all ;  and  their 
for  him  the  thunderbolts  of  Caesar  slept.  But  Caesar 
had  rarely  any  choice  as  to  his  own  election  ;  and  for 
him,  therefore,  the  dagger  of  the  assassin  never  could 
deep.     Other  men's  houses,  other  men's  bedchambers, 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    ROMAX    HISTORT.  333 

were  generally  asylums  ;  but  for  Caesar,  tis  own  j/alace 
had  not  the  privileges  of  a  home.  His  own  aiinies 
were  no  guards  —  his  own  pavilion,  rising  in  the  very 
centre  of  his  armies  sleeping  around  him,  was  no 
sanctuary.  In  all  these  places  had  Csesar  many  times 
been  murdered.  All  these  pledges  and  sanctities  — 
his  household  gods,  the  majesty  of  the  empire,  the 
'  sacramentum  militare,'  —  all  had  given  way,  all  had 
yawned  beneath  his  feet. 

The  imagination  of  man  can  frame  nothing  so 
awful  —  the  experience  of  man  has  mtnessed  nothing 
BO  awful,  as  the  situation  and  tenure  of  the  Western 
Csesar.  The  danger  which  threatened  him  was  like 
the  pestilence  which  walketh  in  darkness,  but  which 
also  walketh  in  noon-day.  Morning  and  evening, 
summer  and  winter,  brought  no  change  or  shadow  of 
turning  to  this  particular  evil.  In  that  respect  it 
enjoyed  the  immunities  of  God  —  it  was  the  same 
yesterday,  to-day,  and  forever.  After  three  centuries 
it  had  lost  nothing  of  its  virulence  ;  it  was  growing 
worse  continually  :  the  heart  of  man  ached  under 
the  evU,  and  the  necessity  of  the  evil.  Can  any  man 
measure  the  sickening  fear  which  must  have  possessed 
he  hearts  of  the  ladies  and  the  children  composing 
the  imperial  family  ?  To  them  the  mere  terror,  en- 
tailed like  an  inheritance  of  leprosy  upon  their  family 
above  all  others,  must  have  made  it  a  woe  like  one  of 
the  evils  in  the  Revelations  —  such  in  its  infliction  — 
«uch  in  its  inevitability.  It  was  what  Pagan  language 
venominated  '  a  sacred  danger ; '  a  danger  charmed 
tad  consecrated  against  human  alleviation. 

At  length,  but  not  until  about  three  hundred  and 
twenty  years  of  murder  had  elapsed  from  the  inaugu- 


534  PHILOSOPHY    OF    EOJIA.N    HISTORY. 

rai  murder  of  the  great  imperial  founder,  Dioclesiai 
rose,  and  as  a  last  resource  of  despair,  said,  let  ut 
multiply  our  image,  and  try  if  that  will  discourage  om 
murderers.  Like  Kehama,  entering  the  eight  gates  of 
Padalon  at  once,  and  facing  himself  eight  times  over, 
he  appointed  an  assessor  for  himself;  and  each  of 
these  co-ordinate  Augusti  having  a  subordinate  Caesar, 
there  were  in  fact  four  coeval  emperors.  Caesar 
enjoyed  a  perfect  alibi :  like  the  royal  ghost  in  Ham- 
let, Caesar  was  hie  et  ubique.  And  unless  treason 
enjoyed  the  same  ubiquity,  now,  at  least,  one  would 
have  expected  that  Caesar  might  sleep  in  security. 
But  murder  —  imperial  murder  —  is  a  Briareus.  There 
was  a  curse  upon  the  throne  of  Western  Rome  :  it 
rocked  like  the  sea,  and  for  some  mysterious  reason 
could  not  find  rest ;  and  few  princes  were  more  mem- 
orably afflicted  than  the  immediate  successors  to  this 
arrangement. 

A  nation  living  in  the  bosom  of  these  funereal  con- 
vulsions, this  endless  billowy  oscillation  of  prosperous 
murder  and  thrones  overturned,  could  not  have  been 
moral ;  and  therefore  could  not  have  reached  a  high 
civilization,  had  other  influences  favored.  No  causes 
act  so  fatally  on  public  morality  as  convulsions  in  the 
state.  And  against  Rome,  all  other  influences  com- 
bined. It  was  a  period  of  awful  transition.  It  was  a 
period  of  tremendous  conflict  between  all  false  relig- 
ions in  the  world,  (for  thirty  thousand  gods  were 
worshipped  in  Rome,)  and  a  religion  too  pure  to  be 
comprehended.  That  light  could  not  be  compre- 
hended by  that  darkness.  And,  in  strict  philosophic 
truth,  Christianity  did  not  reach  its  mature  period. 
even   of  infancy,    until    the    days    of    the    Protestant 


PHIJ.060PHT    OP    HOMAN    HISTOEY.  335 

Reformation.  In  Rome  it  has  always  blended  with 
Paganism  :  it  does  so  to  this  day.  But  then,  i.  e.  up  to 
Dioclesian,  (or  the  period  of  the  Augustan  history,) 
even  that  sort  of  Christianity,  even  this  foul  adultera- 
tion of  Christianity,  had  no  national  influence.  Even 
a  pure  and  holy  religion,  therefore,  by  arraying  demo- 
niac passions  on  the  side  of  Paganism,  contributed  to 
the  barbarizing  of  Western  Rome. 

VII.  -,-  Finally,  we  infer  the  barbarism  of  Rome  from 
the  condition  of  her  current  literature.  Anything 
more  contemptible  than  the  literature  of  Western  (or 
indeed  of  Eastern)  Rome  after  Trajan,  it  is  not  possi- 
ble to  conceive.  Claudian,  and  two  or  three  others, 
about  the  times  of  Carinus,  are  the  sole  writers  in  verse 
through  a  period  of  four  centuries.  Writers  in  prose 
there  are  none  after  Tacitus  and  the  younger  Pliny. 
Nor  in  Greek  literature  is  there  one  man  of  genius 
after  Plutarch,  excepting  Lucian.  As  to  Libanius,  he 
woidd  have  been  '  a  decent  priest  where  monkeys  are 
the  gods  ; '  and  he  was  worthy  to  fumigate  with  his 
leaden  censer,  and  with  inronse  from  such  dull  weeds 
as  root  themselves  in  Lethe,  that  earthly  idol  of  modern 
infidels,  the  shallow  but  at  the  same  time  stupid  Julian. 
Upon  this  subject,  however,  we  may  have  two  summary 
observations  to  make  :  —  1st,  It  is  a  fatal  ignorance 
in  disputing,  and  has  lost  many  a  good  cause,  not  to 
Derceive  on  which  side  rests  the  07ius  of  proof.  Here, 
because  on  our  allegation  the  proposition  to  be  proved 
would  be  negative,  the  onus  probandi  must  lie  with  oui 
opponents.  For  we  peremptorily  affirm,  that  from 
Trajan  downwards,  there  was  no  literature  in  Rome. 
To  prove  a  negative  is  impossible.     But  any  opponent. 


836 


PUILOSOPHY   OF   ROMAN   HISTORY. 


who  takes  the  affirmative  side,  and  says  there  was,  will 
find  it  easy  to  refute  us.  Only  be  it  remembered,  that 
cue  swallow  does  not  make  a  summer.  2dly,  (Which, 
if  true,  ought  to  make  all  writers  on  general  literature 
ashamed,)  we  maintain  —  that  in  any  one  period  of 
sixty  years,  in  any  one  of  those  centuries  which  we  c:ill 
60  familiarly  the  Dark  Ages,  (yes,  even  in  the  lOth  or 
11th,)  we  engage  to  name  more  and  better  books  as 
the  product  of  the  pei'iod  given,  than  were  produced  in 
the  whole  three  hundred  and  fifty  years  froi^  Trajan 
to  Ilonorius  and  Attila.  Here,  therefore,  is  at  once  a 
great  cause,  a  great  effect,  and  a  great  exponent  of  the 
barbarism  which  had  overshadowed  the  Western  Em- 
pire before  either  Goth  or  Vandal  had  gained  a  settle- 
ment in  tbe  ^.and.  The  quality  of  their  history,  the 
tenure  of  the  Caesars,  the  total  abolition  of  literature, 
and  the  eonvulaion  of  public  morals,  —  these  were  the 
true  kv^^y  to  Ui.e  fioman  decay. 


GREECE   UNDER  THE  ROMANS. 


IlEFERENCE  TO    MR.  GEORGE  FINLAY'S   WORK   DPON 
THAT   SUBJECT 

Wha.t  is  called  Philosophical  History  I  believe  to 
be  yet  in  its  infancy.  It  is  the  profound  remark  of 
Mr.  Finlay  —  profound  as  I  myself  understand  it  — 
t.  e.,  in  relation  to  this  philosophical  treatment,  "That 
history  will  ever  remain  inexhaustible."  How  inex- 
haustible ?  Are  the  facts  of  history  inexhaustible  ? 
In  regard  to  the  ancient  division  of  history  with  which 
he  is  there  dealing,  this  would  be  in  no  sense  true ; 
and  in  any  case  it  would  be  a  lifeless  truth.  So  en- 
tirely have  the  mere  facts  of  Pagan  history  been  dis- 
interred, ransacked,  sifted,  that  except  by  means  of 
borae  chance  medal  that  may  be  unearthed  in  the  illit- 
erate East  (as  of  late  towards  Bokhara),  or  by  means 
of, some  mysterious  inscription,  such  as  those  which 
still  mock  the  learned  traveller  in  Persia,  northwards 
.  ear  Hamadan  (Ecbatana),  and  southwards  at  Perse- 
polis,  or  those  which  distract  him  amongst  the  shadowy 
ruins  of  Yucatan  (Uxmal,  suppose,  and  Palenque)  — 
once  for  all,  barring  these  pure  godsends,  it  is  hardly 
♦'ill  the  dice"  that  any  downright  novelty  of  fact 
ki^ruld  remain  in  rexarsion  for  this  nineteenth  century. 

22 


338  GREECE    UNDEB    THE    EOMANS. 

The  merest  possibility  exists,  that  in  Armenia,  or  in 
%  Graeco-Russian  monastery  on  Mount  Athos,  or  in 
Pompeii,  &c.,  some  authors  hitherto  avsxSoroi  may  yet 
be  concealed ;  and  by  a  channel  in  that  degree  im- 
probable, it  is  possible  that  certain  new  facts  of  his- 
tory may  still  reach  us.  But  else,  and  failing  these 
cryptical  or  subterraneous  currents  of  communication, 
for  us  the  record  is  closed.  History  in  that  sense  has 
come  to  an  end,  and  is  sealed  up  as  by  the  angel  ir, 
the  Apocalypse.  What  then  ?  The  facts  so  under- 
stood are  but  the  dry  bones  of  the  mighty  past. 
And  the  question  arises  here  also,  not  less  than  in 
that  sublimest  of  prophetic  visions,  "  Can  these  dry 
bones  live  ?  "  Not  only  can  they  live,  but  by  an  infi- 
nite variety  of  life.  The  same  historic  facts,  viewed 
in  different  lights,  or  brought  into  connection  with 
other  facts,  according  to  endless  diversities  of  permu- 
tation and  combination,  furnish  grounds  for  such  eter- 
nal successions  of  new  speculations  as  make  the  facts 
themselves  virtually  new,  and  virtually  endless.  The 
same  Hebrew  words  are  read  by  different  sets  of  vowel 
points,  and  the  same  hieroglyphics  are  deciphered  by 
keys  everlastingly  varied. 

To  me,  I  repeat  that  oftentimes  it  seems  as  though 
the  science  of  history  were  yet  scarcely  founded.  There 
will  be  such  a  science,  if  at  present  there  is  not ;  and 
in  one  feature  of  its  capacities  it  will  resemble  chemis- 
try. What  is  so  familiar  to  the  perceptions  of  man  as 
the  common  chemical  agents  of  water,  air,  and  the  soil 
on  which  we  tread  ?  Yet  each  one  of  these  elements 
18  a  mystery  to  this  day  ;  handled,  used,  tried,  searched 
experimentally,  combined  in  ten  thousand  ways  —  it  if 


GBKECB    TTNDEB    THE    BOMANS.  339 

•till  unknown ;  fathomed  by  recent  science  down  to  a 
certain  depth,  it  is  still  probably  by  its  destiny  unfath- 
omable. Even  to  the  end  of  days,  it  is  pretty  certain 
that  the  minutest  particle  of  earth  —  that  a  dew-drop 
scarcely  distinguishable  as  a  separate  object  —  that  the 
Blend  erest  filament  of  a  plant  —  will  include  withip 
itself  secrets  inaccessible  to  man.  And  yet,  compareu 
with  the  mystery  of  man  himself,  these  physical  worlds 
of  mystery  are  but  as  a  radix  of  infinity.  Chemistry 
is  in  this  view  mysterious  and  spinosistically  sublime  — 
that  it  is  the  science  of  the  latent  in  all  things,  of  all 
things  as  lurking  in  all.  Within  the  lifeless  flint, 
within  the  silent  pyrites,  slumbers  an  agony  of  poten- 
tial combustion.  Iron  is  imprisoned  in  blood.  With 
cold  water  (as  every  child  is  now-a-days  aware)  you 
may  lash  a  fluid  into  angry  ebullitions  of  heat ;  with 
hot  water,  as  with  the  rod  of  Amram's  son,  you  may 
freeze  a  fluid  down  to  the  temperature  of  the  Sarsar 
wind,  provided  only  that  you  regulate  the  pressure  of 
the  air.  The  sultry  and  dissolving  fluid  shall  bake 
into  a  solid,  the  petrific  fluid  shall  melt  into  a  liquid. 
Heat  shall  freeze,  frost  shall  thaw  ;  and  wherefore  ? 
Simply  because  old  things  are  brought  together  in 
new  modes  of  combination.  And  in  endless  instances 
beside,  we  see  in  all  elements  the  same  Panlike  latency 
»f  forms  and  powers,  which  gives  cO  the  externa] 
world  a  capacity  of  self-transformation,  and  of  poly- 
morphosis  absolutely  inexhaustible. 

But  the  same  capacity  belongs  to  the  facts  of  his- 
tory. And  I  do  not  mean  merely  that,  from  subjective 
iifiierences  in  the  minds  reviewing  them,  such  facta 
ftssurae  endless  varieties  of  interpretation  and  estimate. 


340  GBEECE    TTXDER    THE    BOMANS. 

but  that  objectively,  from  lights  stiU  increasing  in  Iha 
science  of  government  and  of  social  philosophy,  all 
the  primary  facts  of  history  become  liable  continually 
to  new  presentations,  to  new  combinations,  and  to 
new  valuations  of  their  moral  relations.  I  have  seen 
some  kinds  of  marble,  where  the  veinings  happened 
to  be  unusually  multiplied,  in  which  human  faces, 
figures,  processions,  or  fragments  of  natural  scenery, 
seemed  absolutely  illimitable,  under  the  endless  valua- 
tions or  inversions  of  the  order,  according  to  which 
they  might  be  combined  and  grouped.  Something 
analogous  takes  effect  in  reviewing  the  remote  parts  of 
history.  Rome,  for  instance,  has  been  the  object  ol 
historic  pens  for  twenty  centuries  (dating  from  Polybi- 
us) ;  and  yet  hardly  so  much  as  twenty  years  have 
elapsed  since  Niebuhr  opened  upon  us  almost  a  new 
revelation,  by  re-combining  the  same  eternal  facts,  ac- 
cording to  a  different  set  of  principles.  The  same  thing 
may  be  said,  though  not  with  the  same  degree  of  em- 
phasis, upon  the  Grecian  researches  of  the  late  Ottfried 
Mueller.  Egyptian  history  again,  even  at  this  moment, 
is  seen  stealing  upon  us  through  the  dusky  twilight 
in  its  first  distinct  lineaments.  Before  Young,  Cham- 
poUion,  Lepsius,  and  the  others  who  have  followed  on 
their  traces  in  this  field  of  history,  all  was  outer  dark- 
ness ;  and  whatsoever  we  do  know  or  shall  know  of 
.Egyptian  Thebes  will  now  be  recovered  as  if  from  the 
unswathing  of  a  mummy.  Not  until  a  fhght  of  three 
thousand  years  has  left  Thebes  the  Hekatompylos  a 
iusky  speck  in  the  far  distance,  have  we  even  begun 
to  read  her  annals,  or  to  understand  her  revolution  b. 
Another  instance  I  have  now  before  me  of  this  ne^ 


GREECE    UNDEB    THE    BOMANS.  S41 

aistoric  faculty  for  resuscitating  the  buried,  and  foi 
calling  back  the  breath  to  the  frozen  features  of  death, 
in  Mr.  Finlay's  work  upon  the  Greeks  as  related  to 
the  Roman  Empire.  He  presents  us  with  old  facts, 
but  under  the  purpose  of  clothing  them  with  a  new 
iife.  He  rehearses  ancient  stories,  not  with  the  humble 
ambition  of  better  adorning  them,  of  more  perspicu- 
ously narrating,  or  even  of  more  forcibly  pointing  theii 
moral,  but  of  extracting  from  them  some  new  meaning, 
and  thus  forcing  them  to  arrange  themselves,  under 
some  latent  connection,  with  other  phenomena  now 
first  detected,  as  illustrations  of  some  great  principle 
or  agency  now  first  revealing  its  importance.  Mr. 
Finlay's  style  of  intellect  is  appropriate  to  such  a  task ; 
for  it  is  subtle  and  Machiavelian.  But  there  is  this 
difficulty  in  doing  justice  to  the  novelty,  and  at  times 
I  may  say  with  truth  to  the  profundity  of  his  views, 
that  they  are  by  necessity  thrown  out  in  continued 
successions  of  details,  are  insulated,  and,  in  one  word, 
sporadic.  This  follows  from  the  very  nature  of  his 
work ;  for  it  is  a  perpetual  commentary  on  the  inci- 
dents of  Grecian  history,  from  the  era  of  the  Roman 
conquest  to  the  commencement  of  what  Mr.  Finlay, 
in  a  peculiar  sense,  calls  the  Byzantine  Empire.  These 
incidents  have  nowhere  been  systematically  or  contin- 
uously recorded ;  they  come  forward  by  casual  flashes 
m  the  annals,  perhaps,  of  some  church  historian,  as 
,hey  happen  to  connect  themselves  with  his  momentary 
theme  ;  or  they  betray  themselves  in  the  embarrassments 
of  the  central  government,  whether  at  Rome  or  at 
Constantinople,  when  arguing  at  cne  time  a  pestilence, 
\t  another  an  insurrection,  or  at  a  third  an  inroad  of 


342  GREECE    UNDER    THE    ROMANS. 

barbarians.  It  is  not  the  fault  of  Mr.  Finlay,  but  hia 
great  disadvantage,  that  the  affairs  of  Gree(!e  have 
been  thus  discontinuously  exhibited,  and  that  its  in- 
ternal changes  of  condition  have  been  never  treated 
except  indirectly,  and  by  men  aliud  agentibus.  The 
Grecian  race  had  a  primary  importance  on  our  planet ; 
but  the  Grecian  name,  represented  by  Greece  consid- 
ered as  a  territory,  or  as  the  political  seat  of  the  Hel- 
lenic people,  ceased  to  have  much  importance,  in  tho 
eyes  of  historians,  from  the  time  when  it  became  a 
conquered  province ;  and  it  declined  into  absolute 
insignificance  after  the  conquest  of  so  many  otlier 
provinces  had  degraded  Hellas  into  an  arithmetical 
unit,  standing  amongst  a  total  amount  of  figures, 
so  vast  and  so  much  more  dazzling  to  the  ordinary 
mind.  Hence  it  was  that  in  ancient  times  no  com- 
plete history  of  Greece,  through  all  her  phases  and 
stages,  was  conspicuously  attempted.  The  greatness 
of  her  later  revolutions,  simply  as  changes,  would  have 
attracted  the  historian ;  but,  as  changes  associated 
with  calamity  and  loss  of  power,  they  repelled  his 
curiosity,  and  alienated  his  interest.  It  is  the  very 
necessity,  therefore,  of  Mr.  Finlay's  position,  when 
coming  into  such  an  inheritance,  that  he  must  splinter 
his  philosophy  into  separate  individual  notices ;  for 
the  records  of  history  furnish  no  grounds  for  more. 
Spartam,  quam  nactus  est,  ornavit.  That  ungenial 
province,  which  he  has  obtained  by  lot,  he  has  beauti- 
fied by  his  culture  and  treatment.  Bat  this  does  no* 
remedy  the  difficulty  for  ourselves,  in  attempting  t( 
give  a  representative  view  of  his  philosophy.  Genera, 
ibstractions  he    had   no   opportunity   for  presenting , 


GBKKCE    UNDEB    THE    EOMANS,  343 

tonsequently  we  have  no  opportunity  for  valuing ;  and, 
an  the  other  nand,  single  cases  selected  from  a  sue 
session  of  hundreds,  would  not  justify  any  representa- 
tive criticism,  more  than  the  single  brick,  in  the  old 
anecdote  of  Hierocles,  would  serve  representatively  to 
appraise  the  house. 

Under  this  difficulty  as  to  the  possible  for  myself, 
and  the  just  for  Mr.  Finlay,  I  shall  adopt  the  follow- 
ing  course.  So  far  as  the  Greek  people  collected 
themselves  in  any  splendid  manner  with  the  Roman 
Empire,  they  did  so  with  the  eastern  horn  of  that 
empire,  and  in  point  of  time  from  the  foundation  Oa 
Constantinople  as  an  eastern  Rome,  in  the  fourth  cen- 
tury, to  a  period  not  fully  agreed  on ;  but  for  the 
moment  I  will  say  with  Mr.  Finlay,  up  to  the  early 
part  of  the  eighth  century.  A  reason  given  by  Mr. 
Finlay  for  this  latter  date  is,  that  about  that  time  the 
Grecian  blood,  so  widely  diffused  in  Asia,  and  even  in 
Africa,  became  finally  detached  by  the  progress  of 
Mahometanism  and  Mahometan  systems  of  power, 
from  all  further  concurrence  or  coalition  with  the  viewa 
of  the  Byzantine  Caesar.  Constantinople  was  from 
that  date  thrown  back  more  upon  its  own  peculiar 
heritage  and  jurisdiction,  of  which  the  main  resources 
for  war  and  peace  lay  in  Europe,  and  (speaking  by  the 
narrowest  terms)  in  Thrace.  Henceforth,  therefore, 
for  the  city  and  throne  of  Constantine,  resuming  its 
^Id  Grecian  name  of  Byzantium,  there  succeeded  a 
theatre  less  diffusive,  a  population  more  concentrated, 
%  character  of  action  more  determinate  and  jealous,  a 
<tyle  of  courtly  ccemonial  more  elaborate  as  well  as 
(tit  e  haughtily  repulsive,  and  universally  a  systetn  o( 


344  GREECE    TTNBEB    THE    BOMANS. 

interests,  as  much  more  definite  and  selfish,  as  nught 
naturally  be  looked  for  in  a  nation  now  everywhere 
surrounded  by  new  thrones  gloomy  with  malice,  and 
swelling  with  the  consciousness  of  youthful  power. 
This  new  and  final  state  of  the  eastern  Rome,  Mr. 
Finlay  denominates  the  Byzantine  Empire.  Possibly 
this  use  of  the  term  thus  limited  may  be  capable  of 
justification  ;  but  more  questions  would  arise  in  the 
discussion  than  Mr.  Finlay  has  thought  it  of  importance 
to  notice.  And  for  the  present  1  shall  take  the  word 
Byzantine  in  its  most  ordinary  acceptation,  as  denoting 
the  local  empire  founded  by  Constantine  in  Byzantium, 
early  in  the  fourth  century,  under  the  idea  of  a  trans- 
lation from  the  old  western  Rome,  and  overthrown  by 
the  Ottoman  Turks  in  the  year  1453.  In  the  fortunes 
and  main  stages  of  this  empire,  what  are  the  chief  ar- 
resting phenomena,  aspects,  or  relations  to  the  greatest 
of  modern  interests  ?    I  select  by  preference  these  :  — 

I.  First,  this  was  the  earliest  among  the  kingdoms 
of  our  planet  which  connected  itself  with  Christianity 
In  Armenia,  there  had  been  a  previous  state  recog- 
nition of  Christianity.  But  that  was  neither  splendid 
nor  distinct.  Whereas  the  Byzantine  Rome  built 
avowedly  upon  Christianity  as  its  own  basis,  and  con- 
secrated its  own  nativity  by  the  sublime  act  of  founding 
the  first  provision  ever  attempted  for  the  poor,  consid- 
ered simply  as  poor  (i.  e.,  as  objects  of  pity,  not  as 
instruments  of  ambition). 

II.  Secondly,  as  the  great  CRgis  of  western  Christen- 
dom, nay,  the  barrier  which  made  it  possible  that  any 
Christendom  should  ever  exist,  this  Byzantine  Empire 
is  entitled  to  a  very  different  station  ir  the  enlightened 


eBEECE    UNDEK    THE    ROMANS.  845 

gratitude  of  us  Western  Europeans  from  any  which  it 
has  yet  held.  I  do  not  scruple  to  say,  that,  by  com- 
parison with  the  services  of  the  Byzantine  people  to 
Europe,  no  nation  on  record  has  ever  stood  in  the 
same  relation  to  any  other  single  nation,  much  less  to  a 
whole  family  of  nations,  whether  as  regards  the  oppor-- 
tunity  and  means  of  conferring  benefits,  or  as  regards  the 
astonishing  perseverance  in  supporting  the  succession  of 
these  benefits,  or  as  regards  the  ultimate  event  of  these 
benefits.  A  great  wrong  has  been  done  for  ages  ;  for 
we  have  all  been  accustomed  to  speak  of  the  Byzantine 
Empire  with  scorn,*  as  chiefly  known  by  its  eff'eminacy  ; 
and  the  greater  is  the  call  for  a  fervent  palinode. 

III.  Thirdly,  in  a  reflex  way,  as  the  one  great  danger 
which  overshadowed  Europe  for  generations,  and 
against  which  the  Byzantine  Empire  proved  the  capital 
bulwark,  Mahometanism  may  rank  as  one  of  the  By- 
zantine aspects  or  counterforces.  And  if  there  is  any 
popular  error  applying  to  the  history  of  that  great 
convulsion,  as  a  political  efi"ort  for  revolutionizing  the 
world,  some  notice  of  it  will  find  a  natural  place  in 
connection  with  these  present  trains  of  speculation. 

*"  With  scorn  :^'  —  This  has  arisen  from  two  causes;  one 
is  the  habit  of  regarding  the  whole  Roman  Empire  as  in  its 
"  decline"  from  so  early  a  period  as  thut  of  Coraraodus  ;  agree- 
ably to  which  conceit,  it  would  naturally  follow  that,  during 
Us  latter  stages,  the  Eastern  Empire  must  have  been  absolutely 
lU  its  dotage.  If  already  declining  in  the  second  century,  then, 
from  the  tenth  to  the  fifteenth,  it  must  have  been  paralytic  and 
iedridden.  The  other  cause  may  be  found  in  the  accidental  but 
Reasonable  hostility  of  the  Byzantine  court  to  the  first  Crusadera, 
K8  also  in  the  disadvantageous  comparison  with  respect  to  nianlj 
rirtues  between  the  simplicity  of  these  western  children,  audtha 
wfined  dissimulation  of  the  By zau  tinea 


346  GKEECE    UNDER    THE    H0MAK8. 

Let  me,  therefore,  have  permission  to  throw  togethei 
a  few  remarks  on  these  three  subjects — 1.  On  the 
remarkable  distinction  by  which  the  eldest  of  Christian 
rulers  proclaimed  and  inaugurated  the  Christian  basis 
of  his  empire;  2.  On  the  true  but  forgotten  relation 
of  this  great  empire  to  our  modern  Christendom,  under 
which  idea  I  comprehend  Europe,  and  reversionally 
the  whole  continent  of  America  ;  3.  On  the  false  pre- 
tensions of  Mahometanism,  whether  advanced  by  itself 
or  by  inconsiderate  Christian  speculators  on  its  behalf. 
I  shall  thus  obtain  this  advantage,  that  some  sort  of 
unity  will  be  given  to  my  own  glances  at  Mr.  Finlay's 
theme ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  by  gathering  under 
these  general  heads  any  dispersed  comments  of  Mr. 
Finlay,  whether  for  confirmation  of  my  own  views,  or 
for  any  purpose  of  objection  to  his,  I  shall  give  to 
those  comments  also  that  kind  of  unity,  by  means  of 
a  reference  to  a  common  purpose,  which  I  could  not 
have  given  them  by  citing  each  independently  for  it- 
self. 

I.  First,  then,  as  to  that  memorable  act  by  which 
Constantinople  (i.  e.,  the  Eastern  Empire)  connected 
herself  forever  with  Christianity  —  viz.,  the  recognition 
of  pauperism  as  an  element  in  the  state  entitled  to  the 
maternal  guardianship  of  the  state.  In  this  new 
principle,  introduced  by  Christianity,  we  behold  a  far- 
seeing  or  proleptic  wisdom,  making  provision  for  evils 
before  they  had  arisen ;  for  it  is  certain  that  great 
expansions  of  pauperism  did  not  exist  in  the  ancient 
world.  A  pauper  population  is  a  disease  peculiar  to 
vhe  modern  or  Christian  world.  Various  causes  latent 
m  the  social  systems  of  the  ancients  prevented  suci 


OBEECE    UNDEB    THE    BOMANS.  347 

ievelopments  of  surplus  people.  But  does  not  this 
Mgue  a  superiority  in  the  social  arrangementf  of  these 
ancients  ?  Not  at  all ;  they  were  atrociously  worse. 
They  evaded  this  one  morbid  affection  by  means  of 
others  far  more  injurious  to  the  moral  advance  of  man. 
The  case  was  then  everywhere  as  at  this  day  it  is  in 
Persia.  A  Persian  ambassador  to  London  or  Paris 
might  boast  that,  in  his  native  Iran,  no  such  spectacles 
existed  of  hunger-bitten  myriads  as  may  be  seen  every- 
where during  seasons  of  distress  in  the  crowded  cities 
of  Christian  Europe.  "  No,"  would  be  the  answer, 
"  most  certainly  not ;  but  why  ?  The  reason  is,  that 
your  accursed  form  of  society  and  government  inter- 
cepts such  surplus  people,  does  not  suffer  them  to  be 
born.  What  is  the  result  ?  You  ought,  in  Persia,  to 
have  three  hundred  millions  of  people  ;  your  vast  ter- 
ritory is  easily  capacious  of  that  number.  You  have  — 
how  many  have  you  ?  Something  less  than  eight 
millions."  Think  of  this,  startled  reader.  But,  if 
that  be  a  good  state  of  things,  then  any  barbarous 
soldier  who  makes  a  wilderness  is  entitled  to  call 
himself  a  great  philosopher  and  public  benefactor. 
This  is  to  cure  the  headache  by  amputating  the  head. 
Now,  the  same  principle  of  limitation  to  population 
a  parte  ante,  though  not  in  the  same  savage  excess  as 
in  Mahometan  Persia,  operated  upon  Greece  and  Rome. 
The  whole  Pagan  world  escaped  the  evils  of  redundant 
population  by  vicious  repressions  of  it  beforehand. 
But  under  Christianity  a  new  state  of  things  was  des- 
tined to  take  eff&>^.  Many  protections  and  excitementa 
to  population  were  laid  in  '^he  framework  of  this  ne^ 
'eligion,  which,  by  its  new  '"ode  of  rules  and  impulsea 


548  GREECE    UNDEB    THE    HOMANS. 

in  SO  many  ways  extended  the  free  agency  of  human 
beings.  Manufacturing  industry  was  destined  first  to 
arise  on  any  great  scale  under  Christianitj',  Except 
in  Tyre  and  Alexandria  (see  the  Emperor  Hadrian's 
account  of  this  last),  there  was  no  town  or  district  in 
the  ancient  world  where  the  populace  could  be  said 
properly  to  work.  The  rural  laborers  worked  a  little 
-—not  much  ;  and  sailors  worked  a  little  ;  nobody  else 
worked  at  all.  Even  slaves  had  little  more  work  dis- 
tributed amongst  each  ten  than  now  settles  upon  one. 
And  in  many  other  ways,  by  protecting  the  principle 
of  life,  as  a  mysterious  sanctity,  Christianity  has  fa- 
vored the  development  of  an  excessive  population, 
Tnere  it  is  that  Christianity,  being  answerable  for  the 
mischief,  is  answerable  for  its  redress.  Therefore  it 
is  that,  breeding  the  disease,  Christianity  breeds  the 
cure.  Extending  the  vast  lines  of  poverty,  Christianity 
it  was  that  first  laid  down  the  principle  of  a  relief  for 
poverty.  Constantine,  the  first  Christian  potentate, 
laid  the  first  stone  of  the  mighty  overshadowing  insti- 
tution since  reared  in  Christian  lands  to  poverty,  dis- 
ease, orphanage,  and  mutilation.  Christian  instincts, 
moving  and  speaking  through  that  Caesar,  first  carried 
out  that  great  idea  of  Christianity.  Six  years  was 
Christianity  in  building  Constantinople,  and  in  the 
seventh  she  rested  from  her  labors,  saying,  "  Hence- 
forward let  the  poor  man  have  a  haven  of  rest  forever  ; 
a  rest  from  his  work  for  one  day  in  seven  ;  a  rest  from 
his  anxieties  by  a  legal  and  fixed  relief."  Being  legal, 
it  could  not  be  open  to  disturbances  of  caprice  in  the 
giver  ;  being  fixed,  it  was  not  open  to  disturbances  ol 
miscalculation  in  the  receiver.     Now,  first,  whea  first 


GKEECE    TINDER    THE    K0MAN8.  349 

Christianity  was  installed  as  a  public  organ  of  govern- 
ment (and  first  owned  a  distinct  political  responsibility), 
did  it  become  the  duty  of  a  religion  which  assumed, 
as  it  were,  the  official  tutelage  of  poverty,  to  proclaim 
and  consecrate  that  function  by  some  great  memorial 
precedent.  And,  accordingly,  in  testimony  of  that 
obligation,  the  first  Christian  Csesar,  on  behalf  of 
Christianity,  founded  the  first  system  of  relief  for 
pauperism.  It  is  true,  that  largesses  from  the  public 
treasury,  gratuitous  corn,  or  corn  sold  at  diminished 
rates,  not  to  mention  the  sporlulcB  or  stated  doles  of 
private  Roman  nobles,  had  been  distributed  amongst 
the  indigent  citizens  of  Western  E,ome  for  centuries 
before  Constantine  ;  but  all  these  bad  been  the  selfish 
bounties  of  factious  ambition  or  intrigue. 

To  Christianity  was  reserved  the  inaugural  act  of 
public  charity  in  the  spirit  of  charity.  .  We  m.ust  re- 
member that  no  charitable  or  beneficent  institutions  of 
any  kind,  grounded  on  disinterested  kindness,  existed 
among  the  Pagan  Romans,  and  still  less  amongst  the 
Pagan  Greeks.  Mr.  Coleridge,  in  one  of  his  lay  ser- 
mons, advanced  the  novel  doctrine,  that  in  the  Scrip- 
ture is  contained  all  genuine  and  profound  statesman- 
ship. Of  course  he  must  be  understood  to  mean,  in 
its  capital  principles ;  for,  as  to  subordinate  and  execu- 
tive rules  for  applying  such  principles,  these,  doubtless, 
are  in  part  suggested  by  the  local  circumstances  iii 
each  separate  case.  Now,  amongst  the  political  the- 
ories of  the  Biole  is  this,  that  pauperism  is  ncit  aii 
fcccident  in  the  constitution  of  states,  but  an  indefea- 
lible  necessity  ;  or,  in  the  Scriptural  words,  that  "  th« 
Door  shall  never  cease  out  of  the  land."     This  theory, 


350  GREECE    UNDER    IHE    ROMANS. 

or  great  canon  of  social  philosophy  during  many  cen- 
turies drew  no  especial  attention  from  philosophers. 
It  passed  for  a  truism,  bearing  no  particular  emphasis 
or  meaning  beyond  some  general  purpose  of  sanction 
to  the  impulses  of  charity.  But  there  is  good  reason 
to  believe  that  it  slumbered,  and  was  meant  to  slum- 
ber, until  Christianity  arising  and  moving  forwards 
should  call  it  into  a  new  life,  as  a  principle  suited  to  a 
new  order  of  things.  Accordingly,  we  have  seen  of 
late  that  this  Scriptural  dictum  —  "  The  poor  shall 
never  cease  out  of  the  land  "  —  has  terminated  its 
career  as  a  truism  (that  is,  as  a  truth,  either  obvious 
on  one  hand,  or  inert  on  the  other),  and  has  Avakened 
into  a  polemic  or  controversial  life.  People  arose  who 
took  upon  them  utterly  to  deny  the  Scriptural  doctrine. 
Peremptorily  they  challenged  the  assertion,  that  poverty 
must  always  exist.  The  Bible  said,  that  it  was  an  af- 
fection of  human  society  which  could  not  be  extermi- 
nated;  the  economist  of  1800  said  that  it  was  a  foul 
disease  which  must  and  should  be  exterminated.  The 
Scriptural  philosophy  said,  that  pauperism  was  inalien- 
able from  man's  social  condition,  in  the  same  way  that 
decay  was  inalienable  from  his  flesh.  "  I  shall  soon  see 
fAaf,"  said  the  economist  of  1800,  "  for  as  sure  as  my 
name  is  Malthus,  I  will  have  this  poverty  put  down  by 
law  within  one  generation,  if  there's  a  law  to  be  had 
in  the  courts  of  Westminster."  The  Scriptures  have 
left  word,  that,  if  any  man  should  come  to  the  national 
•anquet,  declaring  himself  iinable  to  pay  nis  contribu- 
iom,  that  man  should  be  accounted  the  guest  of  Chris- 
sanity,  and  should  be  privileged  to  sit  at  the  table  its 
thankful  remembrance  of  what  Christianity  had  done 


GBEECE    TTNDEE    THE    ROMANS.  351 

for  man  But  Mr.  Malthus  left  word  with  all  the  ser- 
vants, that,  if  any  man  should  present  himself  undeJ 
those  circumstances,  he  was  to  be  told,  "  the  table  is 
full  "  {his  words,  not  mine)  ;  "  go  away,  good  man.'* 
Go  away  !  Mr.  Malthus  ?  Whither  ?  In  what  direc- 
tion?—  "Why,  if  you  come  to  that,''  said  the  man  cf 
1800,  "  to  any  ditch  that  he  prefers  :  surely  there's 
good  choice  of  ditches  for  the  most  fastidious  taste." 
During  twenty  years — viz.,  from  1800  to  1820 — ■ 
this  new  philosophy,  which  substituted  a  ditch  for  a 
dinner,  and  a  paving-stone  for  a  loaf,  prevailed  and 
prospered.  At  one  time  it  seemed  likely  enough  to 
prove  a  snare  to  our  own  aristocracy  —  the  noblest  of 
all  ages.  But  that  peril  was  averted,  and  the  further 
history  of  the  case  was  this  :  By  the  year  1820,  much 
discussion  having  passed  to  and  fro,  serious  doubts 
had  arisen  in  many  quarters  ;  scepticism  had  begun  to 
arm  itself  against  the  sceptic;  the  economist  of  1800 
was  no  longer  quite  sure  of  his  ground.  He  was  now 
suspected  of  being  fallible  ;  and  what  seemed  of  worse 
augury,  he  was  beginning  himself  to  suspect  as  much. 
To  one  capital  blunder  he  was  obliged  publicly  to 
plead  guilty.  What  it  Avas  I  shall  have  occasion  to 
mention  immediately.  Meantime  it  was  justly  thought 
that,  in  a  dispute  loaded  with  such  prodigious  practical 
consequences,  good  sense  and  prudence  demanded  a 
more  extended  inquiry  than  had  yet  been  instituted. 
Whether  poverty  would  e-er  cease  from  the  land, 
might  be  doubted  by  those  who  balanced  their  faith  in 
Scripture  against  their  faiih  in  the  man  of  1800.  But 
this  at  least  could  not  be  dpubted  —  that  as  yet  pov- 
wty  had  not  ceased,  nor  indeed  had  made  any  sensible 


852  QEEECE    UNDER    THE    BOMANS. 

preparations  for  ceasing,  from  any  land  in  Europe.  Ii 
was  a  clear  case,  therefore,  that,  howsoever  Europe 
might  please  to  dream  upon  the  matter,  when  pauper- 
ism should  have  reached  that  glorious  euthanasy  pre- 
dicted by  the  alchemist  of  old  and  the  economist  ol 
1800,  for  the  present  she  must  deal  actively  with  her 
own  pauperism  on  some  avowed  plan  and  principle, 
good  or  evil  —  gentle  or  harsh.  Accordingly,  along 
the  line  of  years  between  1820  and  1830,  inquiries 
were  made  through  our  consuls  of  every  state  in  Eu- 
rope, what  were  those  plans  and  principles.  For  it 
was  justly  said  —  "  As  one  step  towards  judging 
rightly  of  our  own  system,  now  that  it  has  been  so 
clamorously  challenged  for  a  bad  sj'stem,  let  us  learn 
what  it  is  that  other  nations  think  upon  the  subject, 
but  above  all  what  it  is  that  they  do."  The  answers  to 
our  many  inquiries  varied  considerably  ;  and  some 
amongst  the  most  enlightened  nations  appear  to  have 
adopted  the  good  old  plan  of  laissez  faire,  giving 
nothing  from  any  public  fund  to  the  pauper,  but  au- 
thorizing him  to  levy  contributions  on  that  gracious 
allegoric  lady,  Private  Charity,  wherever  he  could  meet 
her  taking  the  air  with  her  babes.  This  reference  ap- 
peared to  be  the  main  one  in  reply  to  any  application 
of  the  pauper  ;  and  for  all  the  rest  they  referred  him 
generally  to  the  "  ditch,"  or  to  his  own  unlimited 
choice  of  ditches,  according  to  the  approved  method 
f  public  benevolence  published  in  4to  and  in  8vo  by 
the  man  of  1800.  But  there  were  other  and  humbler 
states  in  Europe,  whose  very  pettiness  had  brought 
more  tully  within  their  vision  the  whole  machinery 
Vi^  watciwork  of  pauperism,  as  it  acted  and    leactei 


GREECE    TTNDEB    THE    KOKAKS,  353 

on  the  industrious  poverty  of  the  land,  and  on  other 
interests,  by  means  of  the  system  adopted  in  relieving 
it.  From  these  states  came  many  interesting  reports, 
all  tending  to  some  good  purpose.  But  at  last,  and 
before  the  year  1830,  amongst  other  results  of  more 
or  less  value,  three  capital  points  were  established,  not 
more  decisive  for  the  justification  of  the  English  sys- 
tem in  administering  national  relief  to  paupers,  and  of 
all  systems  that  reverenced  the  authority  of  Scripture, 
than  they  were  for  the  overthrow  of  Mr.  Malthus,  the 
man  of  1800.  These  three  points  are  worthy  of  being 
ased  as  buoys  in  mapping  out  the  true  channels,  or 
indicating  the  breakers  on  this  difficult  line  of  navi- 
gation ;  and  I  now  rehearse  them.  They  may  seem 
plain  almost  to  obviousness  ;  but  it  is  enough  that 
they  involve  all  the  disputed  questions  of  the  case. 

First,  that,  in  spite  of  the  assurances  from  econo- 
mists, no  progress  whatever  had  been  made  by  Eng- 
land, or  by  any  state  in  this  world,  which  lent  any 
sanction  to  the  hope  of  ever  eradicating  poverty  from 
society. 

Secondly,  that,  in  absolute  contradiction  to  the 
whole  hypothesis  relied  on  by  Malthus  and  his  breth- 
ren, in  its  most  fundamental  doctrine,  a  legal  provision 
for  poverty  did  not  act  as  a  bounty  on  marriage.  There 
went  to  Avreck  the  oasis  of  the  Malthus  philosophy. 
The  experience  of  England,  where  the  trial  had  been 
made  on  the  largest  scale,  was  decisive  on  this  point ; 
and  the  opposite  experience  (^f  Ireland,  under  the  op- 
Dosite  circumstances,  was  equally  decisive.  And  this 
result  had  made  itself  so  clear  by  1820,  that  even 
Malthus  (as  I  have  already  noticed  by  anticipation": 

23 


S54  GKEECB    ITITSEB   THE    BOMAXS. 

was  compelled  to  publish  a  recantation  as  to  this  par- 
ticular error,  which  in  effect  was  a  recantation  of  hit 
entire  theory. 

Thirdly,  that,  according  to  the  concurring  experience 
of  all  the  most  enlightened  states  in  Christendom, 
the  public  suffered  least  (not  merely  in  molestation, 
but  in  money),  pauperism  benefited  most,  and  the 
growth  of  pauperism  was  retarded  most,  precisely  as 
the  provision  for  the  poor  had  been  legalized  as  to  its 
obligation,  and  fixed  as  to  its  amount.  Left  to  indi- 
vidual discretion,  the  burden  was  found  to  press  most 
unequally  ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  the  evil  itself  ol 
pauperism,  whilst  much  less  effectually  relieved,  never- 
theless, through  the  irregular  action  of  this  relief,  was 
much  more  powerfully  stimulated. 

Such  is  the  abstract  of  our  latest  public  warfare  on 
this  great  question  through  a  period  of  nearly  fifty 
years.  And  the  issue  is  this :  starting  from  the  con- 
temptuous defiance  of  the  Scriptural  doctrine  upon  the 
necessity  of  making  provision  for  poverty  as  an  indis- 
pensable element  in  civU  communities  {the  poor  shall 
never  cease  out  of  the  land),  the  economy  of  the  age 
has  lowered  its  tone  by  graduated  descents,  in  each 
one  successively  of  the  four  last  decennia.  The  phi- 
losophy of  the  day,  as  to  this  point  at  least,  is  at  length 
in  coincidence  with  Scripture.  And  thus  the  very  ex- 
tensive researches  of  this  nineteenth  century,  as  to 
pauperism,  have  reacted  with  the  effect  of  a  full  justi- 
fication upon  Constantino's  attempt  to  connect  the 
tbundation  of  his  empire  with  that  new  theory  o 
Christianity  upon  the  imperishableness  of  poverty 
And  upon  the  duties  corresponding  to  it. 


GBEECE    UNDER    THE    ROMANS,  355 

Meantime,  Mr.  Finlay  denies  that  Christianity  had 
been  raised  by  Constantine  into  the  religion  of  the 
state ,  and  others  have  denied  that,  in  the  extensive 
money  privileges  conceded  to  Constantinople,  he  con- 
templated any  but  political  principles.  As  to  the  first 
point,  I  apprehend  that  Constantine  will  be  found  not 
so  much  to  have  shrunk  back  from  fear  of  installing 
Christianity  in  the  seat  of  supremacy,  as  to  have  di- 
verged in  policy  from  our  modern  methods  of  such  an 
installation.  My  own  belief  is,  that,  according  to  hi> 
notion  of  a  state  religion,  he  supposed  himself  to  have 
conferred  that  distinction  upon  Christianity.  With 
respect  to  the  endowments  and  privileges  of  Constan- 
tinople, they  were  various ;  some  lay  in  positive  dona- 
tions, others  in  immunities  and  exemptions ;  some, 
again,  %vere  designed  to  attract  strangers,  others  to 
attract  nobles  from  old  Rome.  But,  with  fuller  oppor- 
tunities for  pursuing  that  discussion,  I  think  it  might 
be  possible  to  show,  that,  in  more  than  one  of  his 
institutions  and  his  decrees,  he  had  contemplated  the 
special  advantage  of  the  poor  considered  as  poor ;  and 
that,  next  after  the  august  distinction  of  having  found- 
ed the  Christian  throne,  he  had  meant  to  challenge 
and  fix  the  gaze  of  future  ages  upon  this  glorious  pre- 
tension—  viz.,  that  he  first  had  executed  the  Scriptural 
injunction  to  make  a  provision  for  the  poor,  as  an 
order  of  society  that  by  laws  immutable  should  "never 
cease  out  of  the  land." 

II.  Let  me  advert  to  the  value  and  functions  of 
Constantinople  as  the  tutelary  genius  of  western  or 
Jawnirg  Christianity. 

The  history  of  Constantinople,  or  more  generally 


856  GREECE    TTNDEB    THE    ROMANS. 

of  the  eastern  Roman  Empire,  wears  a  peciliar  in- 
terest to  the  children  of  Christendom ;  and  for  two 
separate  reasons  —  first,  as  being  the  narrow  isthmus 
or  bridge  which  connects  the  two  continents  of  ancient 
and  modern  history,  and  that  is  a  philosophic  interest ; 
but,  secondly,  which  in  the  very  highest  degree  is  a 
practical  interest,  as  the  record  of  our  earthly  salvation 
from  Mahometanism.  On  two  horns  was  Europe  as- 
saulted by  the  Moslems  :  first,  last,  and  through  the 
largest  tract  of  time,  on  the  horn  of  Constantinople ; 
there  the  contest  raged  for  more  than  eight  hundred 
years ;  and  by  the  time  that  the  mighty  bulwark  fell 
(1453),  Vienna  and  other  cities  near  the  Danube  had 
found  leisure  for  growing  up ;  Hungary  had  grown 
up ;  Poland  had  grown  up ;  so  that,  if  one  range  of 
Alps  had  slowly  been  surmounted,  another  had  now 
embattled  itself  against  the  westward  progress  of  the 
Crescent.  On  the  westward  horn,  in  France,  but  hy 
Germans,  once  for  all  Charles  Martel  had  arrested  the 
progress  of  the  fanatical  Moslem  almost  in  a  single  bat- 
tle ;  certainly  a  single  generation  saw  the  whole  danger 
dispersed,  inasmuch  as  within  that  space  the  Saracens 
were  effectually  forced  back  into  their  Spanish  lair. 
This  demonstrates  pretty  forcibly  the  diflFerence  of  the 
Mahometan  resources  as  applied  to  the  western  and 
the  eastern  struggle.  To  throw  the  whole  weight  of 
that  difference,  a  difference  in  the  result  as  between 
eight  centuries  and  thirty  years,  upon  the  mere  differ- 
ence of  energy  in  German  and  Byzantine  forces,  as 
though  the  first  did,  by  a  rapturous  fervor,  in  a  few 
revolutions  of  summer,  what  the  other  had  protracted 
through  nearly  a  millennium,  is  a  representation  whick 


OBEECE    irXBEB    THX    BOHANS.  357 

iefeats  itself  by  its  own  extravagance.  To  prove  too 
much,  is  more  dangerous  than  to  prove  too  little. 
The  fact  is,  that  vast  armies  and  mighty  nations  were 
continually  disposable  for  the  war  upon  the  city  of 
Constantino;  nations  had  time  to  arise  in  juvenile 
vigor,  to  grow  old  and  superannuated,  to  melt  away, 
and  totally  to  disappear,  in  that  long  struggle  on  the 
Hellespont  and  Propontis.  It  was  a  struggle  which 
might  often  intermit  and  slumber ;  armistices  there 
might  be,  truces,  or  unproclaimed  suspensions  of  war 
out  of  mutual  exhaustion ;  but  peace  there  could  not 
be,  because  any  resting  from  the  duty  of  hatred  between 
races  that  reciprocally  seemed  to  lay  the  foundations 
of  their  creed  in  a  dishonoring  of  God,  was  impossible 
to  aspiring  human  nature.  Malice  and  mutual  hatred, 
I  repeat,  became  a  duty  in  those  circumstances.  Why 
had  they  begun  to  fight  ?  Personal  feuds  there  had 
been  none  between  the  parties.  For  the  early  caliphs 
did  not  conquer  Syria  and  other  vast  provinces  of  the 
Roman  Empire,  because  they  had  a  quarrel  with  the 
Caesars  who  represented  Christendom ;  but,  on  the 
contrary,  they  had  a  quarrel  with  the  Csesars  because 
they  had  conquered  Syria ;  or,  at  the  most,  the  con- 
quest and  the  feud  (if  not  always  lying  in  that  exact 
succession  as  cause  and  effect)  were  joint  effects  from 
a  common  cause,  which  cause  was  imperishable  as 
death  or  the  ocean,  and  as  deep  as  are  the  fountains  of 
life.  Could  the  ocean  be  altered  by  a  sea-fight,  or 
the  atmosphere  be  tainted  forever  by  an  earthquake  ? 
As  little  could  any  single  reign  or  its  events  affect  the 
feud  of  the  Moslem  and  the  Christian ;  a  feud  which 
tould  not  cease  unless  God  could  change,  or  unlcM 


358  GREECE    iriTDEK    THE    ROMANS. 

man  (becoming  careless  of  spiritual  things)  should  sins 
to  the  level  of  a  brute. 

These  are  considerations  of  great  importance  in 
weighing  the  value  of  the  Eastern  Empire.  If  the 
cause  and  interest  of  Islamism,  as  against  Christianity, 
were  undying,  then  we  may  be  assured  that  the  Moor- 
ish infidels  of  Spain  did  not  reiterate  their  trans- 
Pyrenean  expeditions  after  one  generation  —  simply 
because  they  could  not.  But  we  know  that  on  the 
south-eastern  horn  of  Europe  they  could,  upon  the 
plain  argument  that  for  many  centuries  they  did. 
Over  and  above  this,  I  am  of  opinion  that  the  Sara- 
cens were  unequal  to  the  sort  of  hardships  bred  by 
cold  climates ;  and  there  lay  another  repulsion  for 
Saracens  from  France,  &c.,  and  not  merely  the  Carlo- 
vingian  sword.  We  children  of  Christendom  show 
our  innate  superiority  to  the  children  of  the  Orient 
upon  this  scale  or  tariff  of  acclimatizing  powers.  We 
travel  as  wheat  travels,  through  all  reasonable  ranges 
jf  temperature ;  they,  like  rice,  can  migrate  only  to 
warm  latitudes.  They  cannot  support  our  cold,  but 
we  can  support  the  countervailing  hardships  of  their 
heat.  This  cause  alone  would  have  weatherbound  the 
Mussulmans  forever  within  the  Pyrenean  cloisters. 
Mussulmans  in  cold  latitudes  look  as  much  out  of  their 
element  as  sailors  on  horseback.  Apart  from  which 
cause,  we  see  that  the  fine  old  Visigothic  races  in 
Spain  found  their  full  employment  up  to  the  reign  of 
Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  which  reign  first  created  a 
kingdom  of  Spain  ;  in  that  reign  the  whole  fabric  of 
their  power  thawed  away,  and.  was  confounded  with 
forgotten  things.     Columbus,  according  to  a  local  tra> 


QBEECE    TTKDEB    THE    B0MAN8.  359 

lition,  was  personally  present  at  some  of  the  latter 
campaigns  in  Grenada :  he  saw  the  last  of  them.  So 
that  the  discovery  of  America  may  be  used  as  a  con- 
vertible date  with  that  of  extinction  for  the  Saracen 
power  in  western  Europe.  True,  that  the  overthrow 
of  Constantinople  had  forerun  this  event  by  nearly 
half-a-century.  But  then  I  insist  upon  the  different 
proportions  of  the  struggle.  Whilst  in  Spain  a 
province  had  fought  against  a  province,  all  Asia  mili- 
tant had  fought  against  the  eastern  Roman  Empire. 
Amongst  the  many  races  whom  dimly  we  descry  in 
those  shadowy  hosts,  tilting  for  ages  in  the  vast  plains 
of  Angora,  are  seen  latterly  pressing  on  to  the  van 
two  mighty  powers,  the  children  of  Persia  and  the 
Ottoman  family  of  the  Turks.  Upon  these  nations  — 
the  one  heretical,  the  other  orthodox,  and  more  accu- 
rately Mahometan  than  Mahomet,  both  now  rapidly 
decaying  —  the  faith  of  Mahomet  has  ever  leaned  as 
upon  her  eldest  sons ;  and  these  powers,  both  the 
right  and  the  wrong,  the  Byzantine  Caesars  had  to  face 
in  every  phasis  of  Moslem  energy,  as  it  revolved  from 
perfect  barbarism,  through  semi-barbarism,  to  that 
crude  form  of  civilization  which  Mahometans  can  sup- 
port. And  through  all  these  transmigrations  of  their 
power,  we  must  remember  that  they  were  under  a 
martial  training  and  discipline,  never  suffered  to  be- 
come effeminate.  One  set  of  warriors  after  another 
did,  it  is  true,  become  effeminate  in  Persia :  but,  upon 
that  advantage  opening,  always  ano.her  set  stepped  in 
from  Torkistan  or  from  the  Imaus>  The  nation,  aa 
individ  tals,  melted  away  ;  the  Moslem  armies  •were 
knmortai. 


560  OBEECE    TTKDEB    THE    BOMANS. 

Here,  therefore,  it  is,  and  standing  at  this  point  of 
my  review,  that  I  complain  of  Mr.  Finlay's  too  facile 
compliance  with  historians  far  beneath  himself.  He 
throws  away  his  own  advantages  :  oftentimes  his  com- 
mentaries on  the  past  are  ebullient  with  subtlety  ;  and 
his  fault  strikes  me  as  lying  even  in  the  excess  of  his 
sagacity  applying  itself  too  often  to  a  basis  of  facts, 
quite  insufficient  for  supporting  the  superincumbent 
weight  of  his  speculations.  But  in  the  instance  before 
us  he  surrenders  himself  too  readily  to  the  ordinary 
current  of  history.  How  would  he  like  it,  if  he  hap- 
pened to  be  a  Turk  himself,  finding  his  nation  thus 
implicitly  undervalued  ?  For  clearly,  in  undervaluing 
the  Byzantine  resistance,  he  does  undervalue  the  Ma- 
hometan assault.  Advantages  of  local  situation  cannot 
eternally  make  good  the  deficiencies  of  man.  If  the 
Byzantines  (being  as  weak  as  historians  would  represent 
them)  yet  for  ages  resisted  the  whole  impetus  of  Ma- 
hometan Asia,  then  it  follows,  either  that  the  Crescent 
was  correspondingly  weak,  or  that,  not  being  weak,  she 
must  have  found  the  Cross  pretty  strong.  The  fecit 
of  history  does  not  here  correspond  with  the  numerical 
items. 

Nothing  has  ever  surprised  me  more,  I  will  frankly 
own,  than  this  coincidence  of  authors  in  treating  the 
Byzantine  Empire  as  feeble  and  crazy.  On  the  con- 
trary, to  me  it  is  clear  that  some  secret  and  preter- 
natural strength  it  must  have  had,  lurking  where  the 
eye  of  man  did  not  in  those  days  penetrate,  or  by  what 
miracle  did  it  undertake  our  universal  Christian  cause 
fight  for  us  all,  keep  the  waters  open  from  freezing  xu 
ttp,  and  through  nine  centuries  prevent  the  ice  of  Ma» 


0&££CE    I^KDEB    THE    BOMAKS.  361 

Bometanism  from  closing  over  our  heads  forever  ?  Yet 
does  Mr.  Finlay  describe  this  empire  as  laboring,  in 
A..  D.  623,  equally  with  Persia,  under  "  internal  weak- 
ness," and  as  "  equally  incapable  of  offering  any  popu- 
lar or  national  resistance  to  an  active  or  enterprising 
enemy."  In  this  Mr.  Finlay  does  but  agree  with  other 
able  writers  ;  but  he  and  they  shoxild  have  recollected, 
that  hardly  had  that  very  year  623  departed,  even  yet 
the  knell  of  its  last  hour  was  sounding  upon  the  winds, 
when  this  effeminate  empire  had  occasion  to  show  that 
she  could  clothe  herself  with  consuming  terrors,  as  a 
belligerent  both  defensive  and  aggressive.  In  the  ab- 
sence of  her  great  emperor,*  and  of  the  main  imperial 
forces,  the  golden  capital  herself,  by  her  own  resources, 
routed  and  persecuted  into  wrecks  a  Persian  army  that 
had  come  down  upon  her  by  stealth  and  a  fraudulent 
circuit.  Even  at  that  same  period,  she  advanced  into 
Persia  mo^e  than  a  thousand  miles  from  her  own  me- 
tropolis in  Europe,  under  the  blazing  ensigns  of  the 
Cross,  kicked  the  crown  of  Persia  to  and  fro  like  a 
tennis-ball,  upset  the  throne  of  Artaxerxes,  counter- 
signed haughtily  the  elevation  of  a  new  Basileus  more 
friendly  to  herself,  and  then  recrossed  the  Tigris  home- 
vards,  after  having  torn  forcibly  out  of  the  heart  and 
palpitating  entrails  of  Persia  whatever  trophies  that 
empire  had  formerly,  in  her  fire-worshipping  stage, 
wrested  from  herself.  These  were  not  the  acts  of  an 
effeminate  kingdom.  In  the  language  of  Wordsworth 
we  may  say  — 

"  All  pcwer  was  given  her  m  the  dreadful  trance; 
Infidel  kings  she  wither 'd  like  a  flame." 

•  Heracltus ;  which  name  ought  not  to  have  the  stress  laid  oo 
tfie  antepenultimate  i^rac),  but  on  the  penultimate  (i) 


362  GREECE    UNDEE    THE    ROMANS. 

Indeed,  no  image  that  I  remember  can  do  justice  to 
the  first  of  these  acts,  except  that  Spanish  legend  oi 
the  Cid,  which  tells  us  that,  long  after  the  death  of  the 
mighty  cavalier,  when  the  children  of  those  Moors  who 
had  fled  from  his  face  whilst  living  were  insulting  the 
marble  statue  above  his  grave,  suddenly  the  statue 
raised  its  right  arm,  stretched  out  its  marble  lance,  and 
drifted  the  heathen  dogs  like  snow.  The  mere  sanc- 
tity of  the  Christian  champion's  sepulchre  was  its  own 
protection  ;  and  so  we  must  suppose  that,  when  the 
Persian  hosts  came  by  surprise  upon  Constantinople  — • 
her  natural  protector  being  absent  by  three  months' 
march  —  simply  the  golden  statues  of  the  mighty 
Caesars,  half  rising  on  their  thrones,  must  have  caused 
that  sudden  panic  which  dissipated  the  danger.  Hardly 
fifty  years  later,  Mr.  Finlay  well  knows  that  Con.'»tanti- 
nople  again  stood  an  assault  —  not  from  a  Persian 
hourrah  or  tempestuous  surprise,  but  from  a  vast  expe- 
dition, armaments  by  land  and  sea,  fitted  out  elaborately 
in  the  early  noontide  of  Mahometan  vigor  —  and  that 
assault  also,  in  the  presence  of  the  caliph  and  the  cres- 
cent, was  gloriously  discomfited.  Now  if,  in  the  mo- 
ment of  triumph,  some  voice  in  the  innumerable  crowd 
had  cried  out,  "  How  long  shall  this  great  Chri?tian 
breakwater,  against  which  are  shattered  into  surge  and 
foam  all  the  mountainous  billows  of  idolaters  and  mis- 
believers, stand  up  on  behalf  of  infant  Christendom  ?  " 
Rnd  if  from  the  clouds  some  trumpet  of  prophecy  had 
■eplied,  "  Even  yet  for  eight  hundred  years  !  "  could 
fcny  man  have  persuaded  himself  that  such  a  fortress 
%gaiust  such  antagonists  —  such  a  monument  agains* 
»uch    a    millennium   of    fury  —  was     to    be   classec 


OBEECE    UNDER    THK    ROMANS.  363 

unongst  the  weak  things  of  the  earth  ?  This  oriental 
Rome,  it  is  true,  equally  with  Persia,  was  liable  to 
sudden  inroads  and  incursions.  But  the  difference  was 
this  —  Persia  was  strongly  protected  in  all  ages  by  the 
»vilderness  on  her  main  western  frontier ;  if  this  were 
passed,  and  a  hand-to-hand  conflict  succeeded,  where 
light  cavalry  or  fugitive  archers  could  be  of  little  value, 
the  essential  weakness  of  the  Persian  Empire  then  be- 
trayed itself.  Her  sovereign  was  then  assassinated, 
and  peace  was  obtained  from  the  condescension  of  the 
invader.  But  the  enemies  of  Constantinople  —  Goths, 
Avars,  Bulgarians,  or  even  Persians  —  were  strong 
only  by  their  weakness.  Being  contemptible,  they 
were  neglected ;  being  chased,  tuey  made  no  stand  ; 
being  prostrate,  they  capitulated  ;  and  thus  only  they 
escaped.  They  entered  like  thieves  by  means  of  dark- 
ness, and  escaped  like  sheep  by  means  of  dispersion. 
But,  if  caught,  they  were  annihilated.  No  ;  1  resume 
ray  thesis ;  I  close  this  head  by  reiterating  my  cor- 
rection of  history  ;  I  re-affirm  my  position,  that  in 
Eastern  Home  lay  the  salvation  of  western  and  central 
f^urope  ;  in  Constantinople  and  the  Propontis  lay  the 
tine  qua  non  condition  of  any  future  Christendom. 
Emperor  and  people  must  have  done  their  duty  ;  the 
result,  the  vast  extent  of  generations  surmounted, 
furnish  the  triumphant  demonstration.  Finally,  in- 
deed, they  fell,  king  and  people,  shepherd  and  flock  ; 
Sut  by  that  time  their  mission  was  fulflllcd.  And 
doubtless,  as  the  noble  Pa,lieologus  lay  on  heaps  of 
tarnage,  with  his  noble  people,  as  life  was  ebbing 
way,  a  voice  from  heaver,  sounded  iu  his  ears  the 
^reat  words  of  the  Hebrew  prophet,  "Behold!  yofb 
WORK  IS  done;  your  warfare  is  accomplished.'' 


364  GREECE    UNDER    THE    ROMANS. 

III.  Such,  then,  being  the  unmerited  disparagemeat 
Df  the  Byzantine  government,  and  so  great  the  ingrati- 
tude of  later  Christendom  to  that  sheltering  power 
ander  which  themselves  enjoyed  the  leisure  of  a 
thousand  years  for  knitting  and  expanding  into  strong 
nations  ;  on  the  other  hand,  what  is  to  be  thought  of 
the  Saracen  anti- Byzantines  ?  Everywhere  it  has 
passed  for  a  lawful  postulate,  that  the  Saracen  con- 
quests prevailed,  half  by  the  feebleness  of  the  Roman 
government  at  Constantinople,  and  half  by  the  preter- 
natural energy  infused  into  the  Arabs  :y  their  false 
prophet  and  legislator.  In  either  of  its  faces,  this 
theory  is  falsified  by  a  steady  review  of  facts.  With 
regard  to  the  Saracens,  Mr.  Finlay  thinks,  as  I  do, 
and  argues,  that  they  prevailed  through  the  local,  or 
sometimes  the  casual,  weakness  of  their  immediate 
enemies,  and  rarely  through  any  strength  of  their  own. 
We  must  remember  one  fatal  weakness  of  the  imperial 
administration  in  those  days,  not  due  to  men  or  to 
principles,  but  entirely  to  nature  and  the  slow  growth 
of  scientific  improvements  —  viz.,  the  difficulties  of 
locomotion.  As  respected  Syria,  Egypt,  Cyrenaica, 
and  so  on  to  the  most  western  provinces  of  Africa, 
the  Saracens  had  advantages  for  moving  rapidly  which 
.he  Caesar  had  not.  But  is  not  a  water  movement 
speedier  than  a  land  movement,  which  for  an  army 
Dever  has  much  exceeded  fourteen  miles  a-day  ? 
Certainly  it  is  ;  but  in  this  case  there  were  two  des- 
perate defects  in  tlie  imperial  control  over  that  water 
service.  To  use  a  fleet,  you  must  have  a  fleet ;  but 
their  whole  naval  interest  had  been  starved  by  the 
Intolerable  costs  of  the  Persian  war.      Immense   ha<? 


GREECE    TTNDEE    THE    BOMAKS.  305 

been  the  expenses  of  Heradius.  and  annually  decaying 
had  been  his  Asiatic  revenues.  Secondly,  the  original 
position  of  the  Arabs  had  been  better  than  that  of  the 
emperor  in  every  stage  of  the  warfare  which  so  sud- 
denly arose.  In  Arabia  the  Arabs  stood  nearest  to 
Syria,  in  Syria  nearest  to  Egypt,  in  Egypt  nearest  to 
Cyrenaica.  What  reason  had  there  been  for  expecting 
a  martial  legislator  at  that  moment  in  Arabia,  who 
should  fuse  and  sternly  combine  her  distracted  tribes  ? 
What  blame,  therefore,  to  Heraclius,  that  Syria  —  the 
first  object  of  assault,  being  also  by  much  the  weakest 
part  of  the  empire,  and  immediately  after  the  close  of 
a  desolating  war  —  should  in  four  campaigns  be  found 
indefensible  ?  We  must  remember  the  unexampled 
abruptness  of  the  Arabian  revolution.  The  year  sis 
hundred  and  twenty-two,  by  its  very  name  of  Hegira, 
does  not  record  a  triumph,  but  a  humiliation.  In  that 
year,  therefore,  and  at  the  very  moment  when  Hera 
clius  was  entering  upon  his  long  Persian  struggle, 
Mahomet  was  yet  prostrate,  and  his  destiny  was 
doubtful.  Eleven  years  after  —  viz.,  in  six  hundred 
and  thirty-three  —  the  prophet  was  dead  and  gone; 
but  his  Jirst  successor  was  already  in  Syria  as  a  con- 
queror. Such  had  been  the  velocity  of  events.  The 
.Persian  war  had  then  been  finished  by  three  years, 
but  the  exhaustion  of  the  empire  had  perhaps,  at 
that  moment,  reached  its  maximum.  I  am  satisfied 
►hat  ten  years'  repose  from  this  extreme  state  of  col- 
apse  would  have  shown  us  another  result.  Even  as 
t  was,  and  caught  at  *his  enormous  disadvantage, 
Heraclius  taught  the  robbers  to  tremble,  and  would 
nave  exterminated  them,  if  not  bafiled  by  two  irremedi- 


i}66  GREECE    XTNDER    THE    ROMANS. 

able  calamities,  neither  of  them  due  to  any  act  or 
neglect  of  his  own.  The  first  lay  in  the  treason  of 
his  lieutenants.  The  governors  of  Damascus,  of 
Aleppo,  of  Emesa,  of  Bostra,  of  Kinnisrin,  all  proved 
traitors.  The  root  of  this  evil  lay,  probably,  in  the 
disorders  following  the  Persian  invasion,  which  had 
made  it  the  perilous  interest  of  the  emperor  to  appoint 
great  oiRcers  from  amongst  those  who  had  a  local 
influence.  Such  persons  it  might  have  been  ruinous 
too  suddenly  to  set  aside ;  as,  in  the  event,  it  proved 
ruinous  to  employ  them.  A  dilemma  of  this  kind, 
offering  but  a  choice  of  evils,  belonged  to  the  nature 
of  any  Persian  war ;  and  that  particular  war  was  be- 
queathed to  Heraclius  by  the  management  of  his  prede- 
cessors. The  second  calamity  was  even  more  fatal; 
't  lay  in  the  composition  of  the  Syrian  population,  and 
its  original  want  of  vital  cohesion.  For  no  purpose: 
could  this  population  be  united ;  they  formed  a  rope 
of  sand.  There  was  the  distraction  of  religion  —  Jaco- 
bites, Nestorians,  &c. ;  there  was  the  distraction  of 
races  —  slaves  and  masters,  conquered  and  conquerors, 
modern  intruders  mixed,  but  not  blended  with,  aborig- 
inal mountaineers.  Property  became  the  one  principle 
and  ground  of  choice  between  the  two  governments. 
Where  was  protection  to  be  had  for  that  ?  Barbarous 
as  were  the  Arabs,  they  saw  their  present  advantage. 
Often  it  would  happen  from  the  position  of  the  armies, 
that  they  could,  whilst  the  emperor  could  not,  guaran- 
tee the  instant  security  of  land  or  of  personal  treas- 
ures ;  the  Arabs  could  also  promise,  sometimes,  even  e 
total  immunity  from  taxes ;  generally  a  diminished 
»cale  of  taxation  ;  always  a  remission  of  arrears  ;  none 


GREECE  UNDER  THE  ROMANS. 


367 


if  which  accessions  conld  be  listened  to  by  the  em- 
peror, partly  on  account  of  the  public  necessities, 
partly  from  jealousy  of  establishing  operative  prece- 
dents. For  religion,  again,  protection  was  more  easily 
obtained  in  that  day  from  the  Arab,  who  made  war  on 
Christianity,  than  from  the  Byzantine  emperor,  who 
was  its  champion.  What  were  the  different  sects 
and  subdivisions  of  Christianity  to  the  barbarian  ? 
Monophysite,  Monothelite,  Eutychian,  or  Jacobite,  all 
were  to  him  as  the  scholastic  disputes  of  noble  and  in- 
tellectual P2urope  to  the  camps  of  gipsies.  The  Arab 
felt  himself  to  be  the  depositary  of  one  sublime  truth, 
the  unity  of  God.  His  mission,  therefore,  was  prin- 
cipally against  idolaters.  Yet  even  to  them  his  policy 
was  to  sell  toleration  of  idolatry  and  Polytheism  for 
tribute.  Clearly,  as  Mr.  Finlay  hints,  this  was  merely 
a  provisional  moderation,  meant  to  be  laid  aside  when 
sufficient  power  was  obtained ;  and  it  was  laid  aside, 
in  after  ages,  by  many  a  wretch  like  Timor  or  Nadir 
Shah.  Keligion,  therefore,  and  property  once  secured, 
what  more  had  the  Syrians  to  seek  ?  And  if  to  these 
advantages  for  the  Saracens  we  add  the  fact,  that  a 
considerable  Arab  population  was  dispersed  through 
Syria,  who  became  so  many  emissaries,  spies,  and 
decoys  in  the  service  of  their  countrymen,  it  does 
great  honor  to  the  emperor,  that  through  so  many 
campaigns  he  should  at  all  have  maintained  his  ground  ; 
and  this  at  last  he  resigned  only  under  the  despon- 
dency caused  by  almost  universal  treachery. 

'Die  vSaracens,  therefore,  had  no  great  merit  even  in 
It.sir  earliest  exploits  ;  and  the  impetus  of  their  move- 
oaent    forwards,  that    principle    of  proselytism    which 


868  GEEECE    UNDER    THE    K0MAN8. 

carried  them  so  strongly  "  ahead  "  through  a  few  gen« 
erations,  was  very  soon  brought  to  a  stop.  Mr.  Finlay, 
in  my  mind,  does  right  to  class  these  harbarians  aa 
"  socially  and  politically  little  better  than  the  Gothic, 
Hunnish,  and  Avar  monarchies."  But,  on  considera- 
tion, the  Gothic  monarchy  embosomed  the  germs  of  a 
noble  civilization ;  whereas  the  Saracens  have  never 
propagated  great  principles  :{  any  kind,  nor  attained 
even  a  momentary  grandeur  in  their  institutions,  ex- 
cept where  coalescing  with  a  higher  or  more  ancient 
civilization . 

Meantime,  ascending  from  the  earliest  Mahometans 
to  their  prophet,  what  are  we  to  think  of  hi?>i  7  Was 
Mahomet  a  great  man  ?  I  think  not.  The  case  was 
thus  :  the  Arabian  tribes  had  long  stood  ready,  like 
dogs  held  in  a  leash,  for  a  start  after  distant  game. 
It  was  not  Mahomet  who  gave  them  that  impulse. 
But  next,  what  was  it  that  hindered  the  Arab  tribes 
from  obeying  the  impulse?  Simply  this,  that  they 
were  always  in  feud  with  each  other  ;  so  that  their 
expeditions,  beginning  in  harmony,  were  sure  to  break 
up  in  anger  on  the  road.  What  they  needed  was 
Bome  one  grand  compressing  and  unifying  principle, 
Buch  as  the  Roman  found  in  the  destinies  of  his  city. 
True  ;  but  this,  you  say,  they  found  in  the  sublime 
principle  that  God  was  one,  and  had  appointed  them 
to  be  the  scourges  of  all  who  denied  it.  Their  mission 
was  to  cleanse  the  earth  from  Polytheism ;  and,  a* 
ambassadors  from  God,  to  tell  the  nations  — "  Ye 
shall  have  no  other  Gods  but  me."  That  was  grand; 
and  thai  surely  they  had  from  Mahomet?  Perhaps  so  • 
but  where  did  he  get  it  ?     He  stole  it  from  the  Jewisl 


GKEECE    TTXDER    THE    KOMANS.  36S 

Scriptures,  and  from  the  Scriptures  no  less  than  from 
the  traditions  of  the  Christians.  Assuredly,  then,  the 
first  projecting  impetus  was  not  impressed  upon  Islam- 
ism  by  Mahomet.  This  lay  in  a  revealed  truth  ;  and 
by  Mahomet  it  was  furtively  translated  to  his  own  use 
from  those  oracles  which  held  it  in  keeping.  But 
possibly,  if  not  the  principle  of  motion,  yet  at  least 
the  steady  conservation  of  this  motion  was  secured  to 
Isl&mism  by  jMahomet.  Granting  (you  will  say)  that 
the  launch  of  this  religion  might  be  due  to  an  alien 
inspiration,  yet  still  the  steady  movement  onwards  of 
this  religion,  through  some  centuries,  might  be  due 
exclusively  to  the  code  of  laws  bequeathed  by  Mahomet 
in  the  Koran.  And  this  has  been  the  opinion  of  many 
European  scholars.  They  fancy  that  Mahomet,  how- 
ever worldly  and  sensual  as  the  founder  of  a  pretended 
revelation,  was  wise  in  the  wisdom  of  this  world  ;  and 
that,  if  ridiculous  as  a  prophet  (which  word,*  how- 
ever, did  not  mean  foreteller,  but  simply  revealer  of 
truth),  he  was  worthy  of  veneration  as  a  statesman. 
He  legislated  well  and  presciently,  they  imagine,  for 
the  interests  of  a  remote  posterity.  Now,  upon  that 
question  let  us  hear  Mr.  Finlay.  He,  when  comment- 
ing upon  the  steady  resistance  offered  to  the  Saracens 

*  I  have  already  (viz  ,  in  the  paper  on  "  Oracles  ")  had  oc- 
casion to  notice  the  erroneous  limitation  of  the  word  Prophecy. 
a.s  if  it  meant  only,  or  chiefly,  that  revelation  ■which  draws  away 
the  veil  of  futurity.  But  in  the  great  cardinal  proposition  of 
Islamism  this  correction  is  broadly  enunciated  —  There  is  one 
frod,  and  Mahomet  is  his  Prophet.  Now,  in  tlie  narrow  sense 
»f  prediction,  Mahomet  disclaimed  tiie  gift  of  proph«H;y  as  mudr 
la  of  miracles. 


B70  GBEECE    UNDER    IHK    ROMANS. 

by  the  African  Christians  of  the  seventh  and  eighth 
centuries  —  a  resistance  which  terminated  disastrouslj 
for  both  sides  -  -  the  poor  Christians  being  extermi- 
nated, and  the  Moslem  invaders  being  robbed  of  an 
indigenous  working  population,  naturally  inquires 
what  it  was  that  led  to  so  tragical  a  result.  The 
Christian  natives  of  these  provinces  were,  in  a  political 
condition,  little  favorable  to  belligerent  efforts  ;  and 
there  cannot  be  much  doubt  that,  with  any  -wisdom  oi 
any  forbearance  on  the  part  of  the  intruders,  both 
parties  might  soon  have  settled  down  into  a  pacific 
compromise  of  their  feuds.  Instead  of  this,  the  scim- 
itar was  invoked  and  worshipped  as  the  sole  possible 
arbitrator  ;  and  truce  there  was  none,  until  the  silence 
of  desolation  brooded  over  those  once  fertile  fields. 
How  savage  was  the  fanaticism,  and  how  blind  the 
wordly  wisdom,  which  could  have  co-operated  to  such 
a  result !  The  cause  must  have  lain  in  the  unaccom- 
modating nature  of  the  Mahometan  institutions,  in  the 
bigotry  of  the  Mahometan  leaders,  and  in  the  defect 
of  expansive  views  on  the  part  of  their  legislator. 
He  had  not  provided  even  for  other  climates  than 
that  of  his  own  sweltering  sty  in  the  Hedjas,  or  for 
manners  more  polished,  or  for  institutions  more  philo- 
sophic, than  those  of  his  own  sun-baked  Ishmaelites. 
"  The  construction  of  the  political  government  of  the 
Saracen  Empire,"  says  Mr.  Finlay,  "  was  imperfect, 
and  shows  that  Mahomet  had  neither  contemplatcv: 
extensive  foreign  conquests,  nor  devoted  the  energies 
of  his  powerful  mind  to  the  consideration  of  the  ques 
tions  of  administration  which  would  arise  out  of  the 
iifficul't  task  of  ruling  a  numerous  and  wealthy  popnla 


GKEECE    TTNDEB    THE    ROMANS.  371 

tion,  possessed  of  property,  but  deprived  of  equal  rights." 
Hu  then  shows  how  the  whole  power  of  the  state  settled 
into  the  hands  of  a  chief  priest  —  systematically  irre- 
sponsible. When,  therefore,  that  mcmentary  state  of 
responsibility  had  passed  away  from  the  Mahometans, 
which  was  created  (like  the  state  of  martial  law)  "  by 
national  feelings,  military  companionship,  anJ  exalted 
enthusiasm,"  the  administration  of  the  caliphs  became 
"  far  more  oppressive  than  that  of  the  Koman  empire." 
It  is  in  fact  an  insult  to  the  majestic  Romans,  if  we 
should  place  them  seriously  in  the  balance  with  savages 
like  the  Saracens.  The  Romans  were  essentially  the 
leaders  of  civilization,  according  to  the  possibilities 
then  existing ;  for  their  earliest  usages  and  social 
forms  involved  a  high  civilization,  whilst  promising  a 
higher  :  whereas  all  Moslem  nations  have  described 
a  petty  arch  of  national  civility  —  soon  reaching  its 
apex,  and  rapidly  barbarizing  backwards.  This  fatal 
gravitation  towards  decay  and  decomposition  in  Ma- 
hometan institutions,  which  at  this  day  exhibit  to  the 
gaze  of  mankind  one  uniform  spectacle  of  Mahometan 
ruins,  all  the  great  Moslem  nations  being  already  in  a 
Strulhrug*  state,  and  held  erect  only  by  the  colossal 
support  of  Christian  powers,  could  not,  as  a  reversion- 

*  To  any  reader  who  happens  to  be  illiterate,  or  not  extensivelj 
Informed,  it  may  be  proper  to  explain,  that  Strulbruf/s  were  a 
ereation  of  Dean  Swift.  They  were  people  in  an  imaginary 
world,  who  were  afraid  of  dying  ;  and  who  had  the  privilege  of 
ingering  on  through  centuries  when  they  ought  to  Jiave  been 
lead  and  buried,  but  suffering  al.  the  evils  of  utter  superan- 
nuation and  decay  ;  having  a  bare  glimmering  of  semi-con- 
leiousness,  but  otherwise  in  the  condition  of  mere  vegetables. 


372  OBEECE    UNDER    THE    BOICANS. 

ary  evil,  have  been  healed  by  the  Arabian  prophet. 
His  own  religious  principles  would  have  prevented 
that,  for  they  offer  a  permanent  bounty  on  sensuality ; 
BO  that  every  man  who  serves  a  Mahometan  state 
faithfully  and  brilliantly  at  twenty-five,  is  incapacitated 
at  thirty-five  for  any  further  service,  by  the  very  na- 
ture of  the  rewards  which  he  receives  from  the  state. 
Within  a  very  few  years,  every  public  servant  is  usu- 
ally emasculated  by  that  unlimited  voluptuousness 
which  equally  the  Moslem  princes  and  the  common 
Prophet  of  all  Moslems  countenance  as  the  proper 
object,  and  indeed  the  sole  object,  of  human  pursuit, 
not  on  earth  only,  but  in  the  future  of  paradise. 
Here  is  the  mortal  ulcer  of  Islamism,  which  can  never 
cleanse  itself  from  death  and  the  odor  of  death.  A 
political  ulcer  would  or  might  have  found  restora- 
tion for  itself ;  but  this  ulcer  is  higher  and  deeper  :  — 
it  lies  in  the  religion,  which  is  incapable  of  reform  :  it 
is  an  ulcer  reaching  as  high  as  the  paradise  which 
Islamism  promises,  and  deep  as  the  hell  which  it 
creates.  I  repeat,  that  Mahomet  could  not  effectually 
have  neutralized  a  poison  which  he  himself  had  intro- 
duced into  the  circulation  and  life-blood  of  his  Moslem 
economy.  The  false  prophet  was  forced  to  reap  as  he 
had  sown.  But  an  evil,  which  is  certain,  may  be 
retarded ;  and  ravages,  which  tend  finally  to  confusion 
may  be  limited  for  many  generations.  Now,  in  the 
case  of  the  African  provincials  which  I  have  noticed, 
<ve  observe  an  original  incapacity  in  Islamism,  even  at 
its  meridian  altitude,  for  amalgamating  with  any  supe- 
rior (and  therefore  any  Christian)  culture.  And  the 
ipeciflc  action  of  Mahometanism   in  the  African  case 


OBEECE    T7NDEK    THE    K0MAX8.  373 

»8  contrasted  with  the  Roman  economy  wMch  it  sup- 
planted, is  thus  exhibited  by  Mr.  Finlay  in  a  most 
instructive  passage,  where  every  negation  on  the  Ma- 
hometan side  is  made  to  suggest  the  countervailing 
positive  usage  on  the  side  of  the  Romans.  O  children 
of  Romulus  !  how  noble  do  you  appear,  when  thus 
abruptly  contrasted  with  the  wild  boars  that  desolated 
your  vineyards !  "  No  local  magistrates  elected  by 
the  people,  and  no  parish  priests  connected  by  their 
feelings  and  interests  both  with  their  superiors  and 
inferiors,  bound  society  together  by  common  ties  ;  and 
no  system  of  legal  administration,  independent  of  the 
military  and  financial  authorities,  preserved  the  prop- 
erty of  the  people  from  the  rapacity  of  the  govern- 
ment." 

Such,  we  are  to  understand,  was  not  the  Mahometan 
system ;  such  had  been  the  system  of  Rome.  "  So- 
cially and  politically,"  proceeds  the  passage,  "  the 
Saracen  empire  was  little  better  than  the  Gothic, 
Hunnish,  and  Avar  monarchies ;  and  that  it  proved 
more  durable,  with  almost  equal  oppression,  is  to  be 
attributed  to  the  powerful  enthusiasm  of  Mahomet's 
religion,  which  tempered  for  some  time  its  avarice  and 
tyranny."  The  same  sentiment  is  repeated  still  more 
emphatically  at  p.  468  :  —  "  The  political  policy  of  the 
Saracens  was  of  itself  utterly  barbarous  ;  and  it  only 
taught  a  passing  gleam  of  justice  from  the  religious 
feeling  of  their  prophet's  doctrines." 

Thus  far,  therefore,  it  appears  that  Mahometanisia 
is  not  much  indebted  to  its  too  famous  founder  ;  it 
owes  to  him  a  principle — viz.,  the  unity  of  God  — 
vhich,  merely  through  a  capital  blurder,  it  fancies  yy 


874  GREECE    UNDER    THE    ROMANS. 

culiar  to  itself.  Nothing  but  the  grossest  ignorance  in 
Mahomet,  nothing  but  the  grossest  non-acquaintance 
with  Greek  authors  on  the  part  of  the  Arabs,  could 
have  created  or  sustained  the  delusion  current  amongst 
that  illiterate  people  —  that  it  was  themselves  only 
who  rejected  Polytheism.  Had  but  one  amongst  the 
personal  enemies  of  Mahomet  been  acquainted  with 
Greek,  there  was  an  end  of  the  new  religion  in  the 
first  moon  of  its  existence.  Once  open  the  eyes  of 
the  Arabs  to  the  fact,  that  Christians  had  anticipated 
them  in  this  great  truth  of  the  divine  unity,  and  Ma- 
hometanism  could  only  have  ranked  as  a  subdivision 
of  Christianity.  Mahomet  would  have  ranked  only  as 
a  Christian  heresiarch  or  schismatic  ;  such  as  Nestorius 
or  Marcian  at  one  time,  such  as  Arius  or  Pelagius  at 
another.  In  his  character  of  theologian,  therefore, 
Mahomet  was  simply  the  most  memorable  of  blunder- 
ers, supported  in  his  blunders  by  the  most  unlettered  * 
of  nations.  In  his  other  character  of  legislator,  we 
have  seen  that  already  the  earliest  stages  of  Mahometan 
experience  exposed  decisively  his  ruinous  imbecility. 
Where  a  rude  tribe  offered  no  resistance  to  his  system, 
for  the  simple  reason  that  their  barbarism  suggested 
no  motive  for  resistance,  it  could  be  no  honor  to  pre- 
vail.    And  where,  on  the  other  hand,  a  higher  civiliza- 

*  "Most  unlettered:  " — Viz.,  at  the  era  of  Mahomet.  Siib- 
»equently,  under  the  encouragement  of  great  caliphs,  thoy  De- 
came  confessedly  a  learned  people.  But  this  cannot  disturb  th« 
Bublime  character  of  their  ignorance,  at  that  earliest  period  when 
this  ignorance  was  an  indispensable  co-operating  element  witk 
the  plagiarisms  of  Mahomet,  or  the  generation  of  a  new  reli 


GREECE    TTNDEK    THE    E0MAN8.  37o 

lion  had  furnished  strong  points  of  repulsion  to  hia 
system,  it  appears  plainly  that  this  pretended  apostle 
of  social  improvements  had  devised  or  hinted  no  readier 
mode  of  conciliation,  than  by  putting  to  the  sword  all 
dissentients.  He  starts  as  a  theological  reformer,  with 
a  fancied  defiance  to  the  world  which  was  no  defianco 
at  all,  being  exactly  what  Christians  had  believed  for 
six  centuries,  and  Jews  for  six-and-twenty.  He  startg 
as  a  political  reformer,  with  a  fancied  conciliation  to  the 
world,  which  was  no  conciliation  at  all,  but  was  sure 
to  provoke  imperishable  hostility  wheresoever  it  had 
any  effect  at  all. 

I  have  thus  reviewed   some    of  the   more   spleivC 
aspects  connected  with  Mr.  Finlay's  theme  ;  hv..^     ^ 
theme,  in  its  entire  compass,  is  worthy  of  a  far  . .  ^^ 
extended  investigation  than  my  own  limits  will  allo^ 
or  than  the  historical  curiosity  of  the  world  (misdirected 
here,  as  in  so  many  other  cases)  has  hitherto  demanded. 
Ttie  Greek  race,  suffering  a  long  occultation  under  the 
blaze  of  the  Roman  Empire,  into    which   for  a  time  i; 
had  been  absorbed,  but  again  emerging  from  this  blaze 
and  re-assuming  a  distinct  Greek  agency  and  influence, 
offers  a  subject  great  by  its  own  inherent  attractions. 
and  separately  interesting  by  the  unaccountable  neg- 
lect which  it  has  suffered.     To   have   overlooked  this 
Bubject,  is  one  amongst  the  capital  oversights  of  Gib- 
bon.    To  have  rescued  it  from  utter  oblivion,  and  to 
have  traced  an  outline  for  its  better  illumination,  is  the 
peculiar  merit  of  Mr.  Finlay.     His  greatest  fault  is  — 
kt  have   been   careless  or  slovenly   in   the   nicetie?    of 
■dassical  and  philological  precision.    IJis  greatest  yraise, 
»nd  a  very  great  one   indeed,  is  —  to  have  thrqwn  the 


376  GREECE    XTNDEK    IHE    ROMANS. 

light  of  an  original  philosophic  sagacity  upon  a  neg- 
lected province  of  history,  indispensable  to  the  arrott' 
dissement  of  Paganism  in  its  latest  stages,  and  of  anti- 
[  Paganism  in  its  earliest. 


of  ^ 
a  Chri^ 
or  M 


BUl 

this  1^ 
the  piaj. 
jion. 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  HERODOTUS. 

Few,  even  amongst  literary  people,  are  aware  lI 
the  true  place  occupied  by  Herodotus  in  universal 
literature ;  secondly,  scarce  here  and  there  a  scholar 
up  and  down  a  century  is  led  to  reflect  upon  the 
multiplicity  of  his  relations  to  the  whole  range  of 
civilization.  We  endeavor  in  these  words  to  catch, 
as  in  a  net,  the  gross  prominent  faults  of  his  appre- 
ciation ;  on  which  account,  first,  we  say  pointedly, 
universal  literature,  not  Grecian  —  since  the  primary 
error  is,  to  regard  Herodotus  merely  in  relation  to  the 
literature  of  Greece ;  secondly,  on  which  account  we 
notice  the  circuit,  the  numerical  amount,  of  his  col- 
lisions with  science  —  because  the  second  and  greater 
error  is,  to  regard  him  exclusively  as  an  historian. 
But  now,  under  a  juster  allocation  of  his  rank,  as  the 
general  father  of  prose  composition,  Herodotus  is 
nearly  related  to  all  literature  whatsoever,  modern  not 
less  than  ancient ;  and  as  the  father  of  what  may  be 
called  ethnographical  geography,  as  a  man  who  specu- 
lated most  ably  on  all  the  humanities  of  science  — 
that  is,  on  all  the  scientific  questions  which  naturally 
interest  our  human  sensibilities  in  this  great  temple 
which  wc  look  up  to,  the  pavilion  of  the  sky,  the  sun, 


178  PHILOSOPHY    OF    HERODOTUS. 

he  moon,  the  atmospliere.  with  its  climates  and  Its 
Rrinds  ;  or  in  this  home  which  we  inherit,  the  earth, 
,vith  its  hills  and  rivers — Herodotus  ought  least  of 
ill  to  be  classed  amongst  historians  :  that  is  but  a  sec- 
ondary title  for  him  ;  he  deserves  to  be  rated  as  the 
leader  amongst  philosophical  polyphistors,  which  is 
the  nearest  designation  to  that  of  encyclopaedist  cur- 
rent in  the  Greek  literature.  And  yet  is  not  this  word 
incyclopcedist  much  lower  than  his  ancient  name  — 
father  of  history?  Doubtless  it  is  no  great  distinction 
U  present  to  be  an  encyclopaedist,  which  is  often  but 
mother  name  for  bookmaker,  craftsman,  mechanic, 
journeyman,  in  his  meanest  degeneration ;  yet  in  those 
jarly  days,  when  the  timid  muse  of  science  had  scarce- 
ly ventured  sandal  deep  into  waters  so  unfathomable, 
it  seems  to  us  a  great  thing  indeed,  that  one  young 
man  should  have  founded  an  entire  encyclopaedia  for 
his  countrymen  upon  those  difficult  problems  which 
challenged  their  primary  attention,  because  starting 
forward  from  the  very  roof — the  walls  —  the  floor 
of  that  beautiful  theatre  which  they  tenanted.  The 
habitable  world,  »/  olxov^ivi],  was  now  daily  becoming 
better  known  to  the  human  race  ;  but  how  ?  Chiefly 
through  Herodotus.  There  are  amusing  evidences 
extant,  of  the  profound  ignorance  in  which  nations 
the  most  enlightened  had  hitherto  lived,  as  to  all 
Lmds  beyond  their  own  and  its  frontier  adjacencies. 
But  within  the  single  generation  (or  the  single  half 
century)  previous  to  the  birth  of  Herodotus,  vast 
changes  had  taken  place.  The  mere  revolutions  con- 
sequent upon  the  foundation  of  the  Persian  Enpire, 
had  approximated  the  whole  world  of  civiliiiation, 
First  came  the  conquest  of   Kgypt  by  the  secc  id  o 


rmi.osorHY  of  hekodoius.  379 

the  new  emperors.  This  event,  had  it  stood  alone, 
was  immeasurable  in  its  effects  for  meeting  curiosity, 
and  in  its  limmediate  excitement  for  prompting  it.  It 
Drought  the  whole  vast  chain  of  Persian  dependencies, 
from  the  river  Indus  eastwards  to  the  Nile  westwards, 
or  even  through  Cyren-;  to  the  gates  of  Carthage, 
under  the  unity  of  a  single  sceptre.  The  world  was 
open.  Jealous  interdicts,  inhospitable  laws,  national 
hostilities,  always  in  procinctu,  no  longer  fettered  tho 
feet  of  the  merchant,  or  neutralized  the  exploring 
instincts  of  the  philosophic  traveller.  Next  came  the 
restoration  of  the  Jewish  people.  Judea,  no  longer 
weeping  by  the  Euphrates,  was  again  sitting  for 
another  half  millennium  of  divine  probation  under 
her  ancient  palm-tree.  Next  after  that  came  the 
convulsions  of  Greece,  earthquake  upon  earthquake  ; 
the  trampling  myriads  of  Darius,  but  six  years  before 
the  birth  of  Herodotus  ;  the  river-draining  millions  of 
Xerxes  in  the  fifth  year  of  his  wandeiing  infancy. 
Whilst  the  swell  from  this  great  storm  was  yet  angry, 
and  hardly  subsiding,  (a  metaphor  used  by  Herodotus 
niraself.  In  oiSeoi/ruv  TTpqyaTwv,)  whilst  the  scars  of 
Greece  were  yet  raw  from  the  Persian  scymitar,  her 
'owns  and  temples  to  the  east  of  the  Corinthian  isth- 
mus smouldering  ruins  yet  reeking  from  the  Persian 
torch,  the  young  Herodotus  had  wandered  forth  in  a 
rapture  of  impassioned  cuiiosity,  to  see,  to  touch,  to 
measure,  all  those  great  objects,  whose  names  had 
been  so  recently  rife  in  men's  mouthb.  The  luxurious 
Sardis,  the  nation  of  Babylon,  the  Nile,  the  oldest  of 
rivers,  Memphis,  and  Thebes  the  hundred-gated,  that 
were  but  amongst  his  youngest  daughters,  with  the 
pyramids   inscrutable    *s    the    heavens  —  all    these  he 


880  PHILOSOPHY     OF     HERODOTUS. 

had  visited.  As  far  up  the  Nile  as  Elephantine,  he 
had  personally  pushed  his  inquiries ;  and  far  beyond 
that  by  his  obstinate  questions  from  all  men  presum- 
ably equal  to  the  answers.  Tyre,  even,  he  made  a 
separate  voyage  to  explore.  Palestine  he  had  trodden 
with  Grecian  feet ;  the  mysterious  Jerusalem  he  had 
visited,  and  had  computed  her  proportions.  Finally, 
afi  to  Greece  continental,  though  not  otherwise  con- 
nected with  it  himself  than  by  the  bond  of  language, 
and  as  the  home  of  his  Ionian  ancestors,  (in  which 
view  he  often  calls  it  by  the  great  moral  name  of 
Hellas,  regions  that  geographically  belong  to  Asia  and 
even  to  Africa,)  he  seems  by  mere  casual  notices, 
now  prompted  by  an  historical  incident,  now  for  the 
purpose  of  an  illustrative  comparison,  to  have  known 
so  familiarly,  that  Pausanias  in  after  ages  does  not 
describe  more  minutely  the  local  features  to  Avhich 
he  had  dedicated  a  life,  than  this  extraordinary  trav- 
eller, for  whom  they  did  but  point  a  period  or  cir- 
cumstantiate a  parenthesis.  As  a  geographer,  often  as 
a  hydrographer  —  witness  his  soundings  thirty  miles 
off  the  mouths  of  the  Nile  —  Herodotus  was  the  first 
great  parent  of  discovery,  as  between  nation  and  nation 
he  was  the  author  of  mutual  revelation ;  whatsoever 
any  one  nation  knew  of  its  own  little  ring-fence 
through  daily  use  and  experience,  or  had  received 
oy  ancestral  tradition,  that  he  published  to  all  other 
nations.  He  was  the  first  central  interpreter,  the 
common  dragoman  to  the  general  college  of  civili- 
Eation  that  now  belted  the  Mediterranean,  holding 
up,  in  a  language  already  laying  the  foundations  of 
universality,  one  comprehensive  mirror,  reflectinjit  U 
them  all  the  separate  chorography,  habits,  instituti'  is 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    HEROnOTUS.  381 

ftnd  religious  systems  of  each.  Nor  was  it  in  the 
facts  merely,  that  he  retraced  the  portraits  of  all 
leading  states ;  whatsoever  in  these  facts  was  mys- 
terious, for  that  he  had  a  self-originated  solution; 
whatsoever  was  perplexing  by  equiponderant  counter- 
assumptions,  for  that  he  brought  a  determining  impulse 
to  the  one  side  or  the  other ;  whatsoever  seemed 
contradictory,  for  that  he  brought  a  reconciling  hypo- 
thesis. Were  it  the  annual  rise  of  a  river,  were  it  the 
formation  of  a  famous  kingdom  by  alluvial  depositions, 
were  it  the  unexpected  event  of  a  battle,  or  the 
apparently  capricious  migration  of  a  people  —  for  all 
alike  Herodotus  had  such  resources  of  knowledge  as 
took  the  sting  out  of  the  marvellous,  or  such  resources 
of  ability  as  at  least  suggested  the  plausible.  Anti- 
quities or  mythology,  martial  institutions  or  pastoral, 
the  secret  motives  to  a  falsehood  which  he  exposes,  or 
the  hidden  nature  of  some  truth  Avhich  he  deciphers  — 
ell  alike  lay  within  the  searching  dissection  of  this 
astonishing  ■  intellect,  the  most  powerful  lens  by  far 
that  has  ever  been  brought  to  bear  upon  the  mixed 
objects  of  a  speculative  traveller. 

To  have  classed  this  man  as  a  mere  fabling  annalist, 
or  even  if  it  should  be  said  on  bettor  thoughts  —  no, 
not  as  a  fabling  annalist,  but  as  a  great  scenical-histo- 
.  ian  —  is  so  monstrous  an  oversight,  so  mere  a  neglect 
of  the  proportions  maintained  amongst  the  topics 
treated  by  Herodotus,  that  we  do  not  conceive  any 
apology  requisite  for  revising,  in  this  place  or  at  this 
time,  the  general  estimate  on  a  subject  always  interest 
\ng.  What  is  everybody's  business,  the  proverb  in- 
structs us  to  view  as  no'^-ody's  by  duty ;  but  under  the 
•ame  rule  it  is  an^bodv  s  l)y  rig'nt  ;  and  what  belongs 


382  PHILOSOPHY    OF    HERODOTUS. 

lo  all  hours  alike,  may,  for  tliat  reason,  belong,  ^vithout 
ulame,  to  January  of  the  year  1842.  Yet,  if  any  man, 
obstinate  in  demanding  for  all  acts  a  '  sufficient  reason,' 
[to  speak  Leibnitice'^  demurs  to  our  revision,  as  having 
no  special  invitation  at  this  immediate  moment,  then 
we  are  happy  to  tell  him  that  Mr.  Hermann  Bobrik  has 
furnished  us  with  such  an  invitation,  by  a  recent  re- 
riew  of  Herodotus  as  a  geographer,^'^  and  thus  furnished 
even  a  technical  plea  for  calling  up  the  great  man 
before  our  bar. 

We  have  already  said  something  towards  reconsider- 
ing the  thoughtless  classification  of  a  writer  whose 
works  do  actually,  in  their  major  proportion,  not  essen- 
tially concern  that  subject  to  which,  by  their  translated 
title,  they  are  exclusively  referred ;  for  even  that  part 
Avhich  is  historical,  often  moves  by  mere  anecdotes  oi 
personal  sketches.  And  the  uniform  object  of  these  is 
not  the  history,  but  the  political  condition  of  the  par- 
ticular state  or  province.  But  we  now  feel  disposed  to 
press  this  rectification  a  little  more  keenly,  by  asking 
—  What  was  the  reason  for  this  apparently  wilful  error  ? 
The  reason  is  palpable :  it  was  the  ignorance  of  irre- 
flectiveness. 

I.  —  For  with  respect  to  the  first  oversight  on  the 
claim  of  Herodotus,  as  an  earliest  archetype  of  composi- 
tion, so  much  is  evident  —  that,  if  prose  were  simply 
the  negation  of  verse,  were  it  the  fact  that  prose  had  no 
geparate  laws  of  its  own,  but  that,  to  be  a  composer  in 
prose  meant  only  his  privilege  of  being  inartificial  — 
tkis  dispensation  from  the  restraints  of  metre  —  then, 
.ndeed,  it  would  be  a  slight  nominal  honor  to  hav» 
been  the  Father  of  Prose.    But  this  is  ignorance,  thougj 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  HERODOTUS.  383 

pretty  co.nmon  ignorance.  To  walk  well,  it  is  not 
enough  that  a  man  abstains  frcm  dancing.  Walking 
Qas  rules  of  its  own,  the  more  difficult  to  perceive  or 
to  practise  as  they  are  less  broadly  prono?ices.  To 
forbear  singing  is  not,  therefore,  to  speak  well  or  to 
read  well :  eacli  of  which  offices  rests  upon  a  separate 
art  of  its  own.  Numerous  laws  of  transition,  connec- 
tion, preparation,  are  different  for  a  writer  in  verse  and 
a  writer  in  prose.  Each  mode  of  composition  is  a 
great  art ;  well  executed,  is  the  highest  and  most  diffi- 
cult of  arts.  And  we  are  satisfied  that,  one  century 
Defore  the  age  of  Herodotus,  the  effort  must  have  teen 
greater  to  wean  the  feelings  from  a  key  of  poetic  com- 
position to  which  all  minds  had  long  been  attuned  and 
prepared,  than  at  present  it  would  be  for  any  paragraphist 
in  the  newspapers  to  make  the  inverse  revolution  by 
suddenly  renouncing  the  modesty  of  prose  for  the  im- 
passioned forms  of  lyrical  poetry.  It  was  a  great 
thing  to  be  the  leader  of  prose  composition  ;  great 
even,  as  we  all  can  see  at  other  times,  to  be  absolutely 
first  in  any  one  subdivision  of  composition  :  how  much 
more  in  one  whole  bisection  of  literature  !  And  if  it 
is  objected  that  Herodotus  was  not  the  eldest  of  prose 
^vriters,  doubtless,  in  an  absolute  sense,  no  man  was. 
Vhere  must  always  have  been  short  public  inscriptions, 
iiot  admitting  of  metre,  as  where  numbers,  quantities, 
dimensions  were  concerned.  It  is  enough  that  all  fee- 
b's  tentative  explorers  of  the  art  had  been  too  meagre 
in  matter,  too  rude  in  manner,  like  Fabius  Pictor 
ftinongst  the  Romans,  to  captivate  the  ears  of  men, 
And  thus  to  ensure  their  oii'n  propagation.  Without 
winoying  the  reader  by  the  cheap  erudition  of  parading 

efuiict  names  before  nim,  it  is  certain  that  Scylax,  a» 


384  PHILOSOPHY    OF    HEE0D0IU8. 

author  still  surviving,  was  nearly  contemporary  with 
Herodotus ;  and  not  very  wide  of  him  by  his  subject. 
In  Ids  case  it  is  probable  that  the  mere  practical  bene- 
fits of  his  book  to  the  navigators  of  the  Mediterranean 
in  that  early  period,  had  multiplied  his  book  so  aa 
eventually  to  preserve  it.  Yet,  as  Major  Rennell  re- 
marks, '  Geog.  Syst.  of  Herod.,'  p.  610  — '  Scylax 
must  be  regarded  as  a  seaman  or  pUot,  and  the  author 
of  a  coasting  directory  ;  '  as  a  mechanic  artisan,  rank- 
ing with  Hamilton,  Moore,  or  Gunter,  not  as  a  great 
liberal  artist  —  an  intellectual  potentate  like  Herodotus. 
Such  now  upon  the  scale  of  intellectual  claims  as  was 
this  geographical  rival  by  comparison  with  Herodotus, 
such  doubtless  were  his  rivals  or  predecessors  in  his- 
tory, in  antiquities,  and  in  the  other  provinces  which 
he  occupied.  And,  generally,  the  fragments  of  these 
authors,  surviving  in  Pagan  as  well  as  Christian  collec- 
tions, show  that  they  were  such.  So  that,  in  a  high, 
\  irtual  sense,  Herodotus  was  to  prose  composition  what 
liomer,  six  hundred  years  earlier,  had  been  to  verse. 

n. —  But  whence  ai'ose  the  other  mistake  about  Her- 
odotus —  the  fancy  that  his  great  work  was  exclusively 
(or  even  chiefly)  a  history?  It  arose  simply  from  a 
mistranslation,  which  subsists  everywhere  to  this  day. 
We  remember  that  Kant,  in  one  of  his  miscellaneous 
essays,  finding  a  necessity  for  explaining  the  term 
Hisloire^  [why  we  cannot  say,  since  the  Germans 
liave  the  self-grown  word  Geschichte  for  that  idea,'' 
deduces  it,  of  course,  from  the  Greek  ' loiooia.  This 
brings  him  to  an  occasion  for  defining  the  term.  And 
how?  It  is  laughable  to  imagine  the  anxious  reade/ 
bending  his  ear  to  catch   the   Kantean  whisper,  an« 


PHILOSOPHY    OF     HEiiOBOXLTS.  335 

finally  solemnly  hearing  that  'laroqla  means  —  History, 
Really,  Professor  Kant,  we  should  almost  have  guessed 
as  much.  But  such  derivations  teach  no  more  than  the 
ample  circuit  of  Bardolph's  definition  — '  accommo- 
dated —  that  whereby  a  man  is,  or  may  be  thought  to 
be  '  —  what  ?  '  accommodated.'  Kant  was  an  excellent 
Latin  scholar,  but  an  indifferent  Grecian.  And  spite 
of  the  old  traditional  '  Historiarum  Libri  Novem,* 
which  stands  upon  all  Latin  title-pages  of  Herodotus, 
we  need  scarcely  remind  a  Greek  scholar,  that  the 
verb  io-To/3€a>  or  the  noun  iaropia  never  bears,  in  this 
writer,  the  latter  sense  of  recording  and  memorializing. 
The  substantative  is  a  word  frequently  employed  by 
Herodotus  :  often  in  the  plural  number  ;  and  uniformly 
it  means  inquiries  or  investigations ;  so  that  the  proper 
English  version  of  the  title-page  would  be  —  'Of  the 
Researches  made  by  Herodotus,  Nine  Books.'  And,  in 
reality,  that  is  the  very  meaning,  and  the  secret  drift, 
the  conservation  running  overhead  through  these  nine 
sections  to  the  nine  muses.  Had  the  work  been  de- 
ligned  as  chiefly  historical,  it  would  have  been  placed 
under  the  patronage  of  the  one  sole  muse  presiding  over 
History.  But  because  the  very  opening  sentence  tells  us 
*hat  it  is  not  chiefly  historical,  that  it  is  so  partially,  that 
'C  rehearses  the  acts  of  men,  [ra  yci^o/xeVa,]  together  with 
khe  monumental  structures  of  human  labor,  [to.  epya] 
—  for  the  true  sense  of  which  word,  in  this  position, 
gee  the  first  sentence  in  section  thirty-five  of  Euterpe, 
and  other  things  besides,  [rd  re  dXAa,]  because,  in  short 
nnt  any  limited  annals,  Tecause  the  mighty  revelation 
of  the  world  to  its  scattered  inhabitants,  because  — 

•  Quicquid  agunt  homines,  votutt    timor,  ira,  volaptas, 
Qaudia,  discursns,  nostri  est  farrago  libeUi  — ' 
25 


386  PHILOSOPHY    OF    HERODOTTJS. 

therefore  it  was  that  a  running  title,  or  super&criptioQ 
BO  extensive  and  so  aspiring  had  at  some  time  been 
adopted.  Every  muse,  and  not  one  only,  is  presumed 
to  be  interested  in  the  work  ;  and,  in  simple  tiath,  this 
legend  of  dedication  is  but  an  expansion  cf  variety 
more  impressively  conveyed  of  what  had  been  already 
notified  in  the  inaugural  sentence ;  whilst  both  this 
sentence  and  that  dedication  were  designed  to  meet 
the  very  misconception  which  has  since,  notwithstand- 
ing, prevailed.** 

These  rectifications  ought  to  have  some  effect  in 
elevating  —  first,  the  rank  of  Herodotus  ;  secondly, 
his  present  attractions.  Most  certain  we  are  that  few 
readers  are  aware  of  the  various  amusement  conveyed 
from  all  sources  then  existing,  by  this  most  splendid 
of  travellers.  Dr.  Johnson  has  expressed  in  print, 
(and  not  merely  in  the  strife  of  conversation,)  the 
following  extravagant  idea  —  that  to  Homer,  as  its 
original  author,  may  be  traced  back,  at  least  in  out- 
line, every  tale  or  complication  of  incidents,  now  mov- 
ing in  modern  poems,  romances  or  novels.  Now,  it  is 
not  necessary  to  denounce  such  an  assertion  as  false, 
because,  upon  two  separate  reasons,  it  shows  itself  to 
oe  impossible.  In  the  first  place,  the  motive  to  such 
»n  assertion  was  —  to  emblazon  the  inventive  faculty 
^f  Homer ;  but  it  happens  that  Homer  '.ould  not 
oavent  anything,  small  or  great,  under  the  very  prin- 
ciples of  Grecian  art.  To  be  a  fiction,  as  to  matters 
of  action,  (for  in  embellishments  the  rule  might  be 
otherwise,)  was  to  be  ridiculous  and  unmeaning  in 
Grecian  eyes.  We  may  illustrate  the  Grecian  feeling 
on  this  point  (however  little  known  to  critics)  by  our 
9wn  dolorous    disappointment    when  we   opened    thi 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    HEKODOTUS.  387 

ADtambra  of  Mr.  Washington  Irving.  We  had  sup- 
posed it  to  be  some  real  Spanish  or  Moorish  legend 
eonnected  with  that  romantic  edifice  ;  and,  behold !  it 
was  a  mere  Sadler's  Wells  travesty,  (we  speak  of  its 
plan,  not  of  its  execution,)  applied  to  some  slender 
fragments  from  past  days.  Such,  but  far  stronger 
would  have  been  the  disappointment  to  Grecian  feel- 
ings, in  finding  any  poetic  (a  fortiori,  any  prose) 
legend  to  be  a  fiction  of  the  writers  —  words  cannot 
measure  the  reaction  of  disgust.  And  thence  it  was  that 
no  tragic  poet  of  Athens  ever  took  for  his  theme  any 
tale  or  fable  not  already  pre-existing  in  some  version, 
though  now  and  then  it  might  be  the  least  popular 
version.  It  was  capital  as  an  ofience  of  the  intellect, 
it  was  lunatic  to  do  otherwise.  This  is  a  most  impor- 
tant characteristic  of  ancient  taste ;  and  most  interest- 
ing in  its  philosophic  value  for  any  comparative  esti- 
mate of  modern  art,  as  against  ancient.  In  particular, 
no  just  commentary  can  ever  be  written  on  the  poetics 
of  Aristotle,  which  leaves  it  out  of  sight.  Secondly, 
it  is  evident  that  the  whole  character,  the  very  princi- 
ple of  movement,  in  many  modern  stories,  depends 
upon  sentiments  derived  remotely  from  Christianity ; 
and  others  upon  usages  or  manners  peculiar  to  modern 
civilization ;  so  as  in  either  case  to  involve  a  moral 
anachronism  if  viewed  as  Pagan.  Not  the  coloring 
"»nly  of  the  fable,  but  the  very  incidents,  one  and  all, 
and  the  situations,  and  the  perplexities,  are  conutantly 
«he  product  of  something  characteristically  modern  in 
ihe  circumstances,  sometimes,  for  instance,  in  the 
climate  ;  for  the  ancients  had  no  experimeiital  know- 
'edge  of  severe  climates.  With  these  double  impossi 
bilities  before  us,  of  any  absolute  fictions  in  a  Pagao 


888  PHILOSOPHY     OF    HEK0D0XU8. 

author  that  could  be  generally  fitted  to  anticipate 
modern  tales,  we  shall  not  transfer  to  Herodotus  the 
hnpracticable  compliment  paid  by  Dr.  Johnson  to 
Homer.  But  it  is  certain  that  the  very  best  collection 
of  stories  furnished  by  Pagan  funds,  lies  dispersed 
through  his  great  work.  One  of  the  best  of  the  Ara- 
bian Nights,  the  very  best  as  regards  the  structure 
of  the  plot  —  viz.,  the  tale  oi  Ali  Baba  and  the  Forty 
Thieves  —  is  evidently  derived  from  an  incident  in 
that  remarkable  Egyptian  legend,  connected  with  the 
treasury-house  of  Rhampsinitus.  This,  except  two  of 
his  Persian  legends,  (Cyrus  and  Darius,)  is  the  longest 
tale  in  Herodotus,  and  by  much  the  best  in  an  artist's 
sense  ;  indeed,  its  own  remarkable  merit,  as  a  fable  in 
which  the  incidents  successfully  generate  each  other, 
caused  it  to  be  transplanted  by  the  Greeks  to  their 
own  country.  Vossius,  in  his  work  on  the  Greek  his- 
torians, and  a  hundred  years  later,  Valckenaer,  Avith 
many  other  scholars,  had  pointed  out  the  singular  con- 
formity of  this  memorable  Egyptian  story  witn  several 
that  afterwards  circulated  in  Greece.  The  eldest  of 
these  transfers  was  undoubtedly  the  Boeotian  tale  (but 
.n  days  before  the  name  Boeotia  existed)  of  Agamedes 
and  Trophonius,  architects,  and  sons  to  the  King  of 
Orchomenos,  who  built  a  treasure-house  at  HjTia. 
(noticed  by  Homer  in  his  ship  catalogue,)  followed 
by  tragical  cuxumstances,  the  very  same  as  those 
recorded  by  Herodotus.  It  is  true  that  the  latter 
incidents,  according  to  the  Egyptian  version  —  the 
monstrous  device  of  Rhampsinitus  for  discovering  the 
robber  at  the  price  of  his  daughter's  honor,  and  the  fina,' 
rewai'd  of  the  robber  for  his  petty  ingenuity,  (which 
after  all,  belonged  chiefly  to  the  deceased  architect, 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    HEB0D0TU8.  389 

ruin  the  tale  as  a  whole.  But  these  latter  incidents 
are  obviously  forgeries  of  another  age  ;  '  angeschlosssn ' 
fastened  on  by  fraud,  '  an  den  eisten  aelteren  theil,'  to 
the  first  and  elder  part,  as  Mueller  rightly  observes, 
p.  97,  of  his  Orchomenos.  And  even  here  it  is  pleasing 
to  notice  the  incredulity  of  Herodotus,  who  was  not, 
like  so  many  of  his  Christian  commentators,  sceptical 
upon  previous  system  and  by  wholesale,  but  equally 
prone  to  believe  wherever  his  heart  (naturally  reve- 
rential) suggested  an  interference  of  superior  natures, 
and  to  doubt  wherever  his  excellent  judgment  detected 
marks  of  incoherency.  He  records  the  entire  series 
of  incidents  as  ra  Aeyo/xeVa  a.Korj,  reports  of  events  which 
had  reached  him  by  hearsay,  e'/xot  8e  ou  TriaTo.  — '  but 
to  me,'  he  says  pointedly,  '  not  credible.' 

In  this  view,  as  a  thesaurus  fabularum,  a  great  re- 
pository of  anecdotes  and  legends,  tragic  or  romantic, 
Herodotus  is  so  far  beyond  all  Pagan  competition,  that 
we  are  thrown  upon  Christian  literatures  for  any  cor- 
responding form  of  merit.  The  case  has  often  been 
imagined  playfully,  that  a  man  were  restricted  to  one 
book ;  and,  supposing  all  books  so  solemn  as  those  of 
a  religious  interest  to  be  laid  out  of  the  questicn. 
many  are  the  answers  which  have  been  pronounced, 
according  to  the  difi"erence  of  men's  minds.  Rousseau, 
»s  is  well  known,  on  such  an  assumption  made  his 
election  for  Plutarch.  But  shall  we  tell  the  reader 
«Aj/  ?  It  was  not  altogether  his  taste,  or  his  judicious 
'*ioice,  which  decided  him ;  for  choice  there  can  be 
U  >ne  amongst  elements  unexamined  —  it  was  his  lim- 
ted  readmg.  Except  a  few  papers  in  the  French 
Encyclopedia  during  his  maturer  years,  and  some 
•lozen  of  works  presented  to  him  by  their  authors,  hi» 


390  PHILOSOPHY    OF    HEKODoXUS. 

own  friends,  Rousseau  had  read  little  or  nothing  be- 
yond Plutarch's  Lives  in  a  bad  French  translation, 
and  Montaigne.  Though  not  a  Frenchman,  having 
had  an  education  (if  such  one  can  call  it)  thoroughly 
French,  he  had  the  usual  puerile  French  craze  about 
Roman  virtue,  and  republican  simplicity,  and  Catc,  and 
'  all  that.'  So  that  his  decision  goes  for  little.  And 
even  he,  had  he  read  Herodotus,  would  have  thought 
twice  before  he  made  up  his  mind.  The  truth  is,  that 
in  such  a  case,  suppose,  for  example,  Robinson  Crusoe 
empowered  to  import  one  book  and  no  more  into  hia 
insular  hermitage,  the  most  powerful  of  human  books 
must  be  unavoidably  excluded,  and  for  the  following 
reason :  that  in  the  direct  ratio  of  its  profundity  will 
be  the  unity  of  any  fictitious  interest ;  a  Paradise  Lost, 
or  a  King  Lear,  could  not  agitate  or  possess  the  mind 
that  they  do,  if  they  were  at  leisure  to  '  amuse '  us. 
So  far  from  relying  on  its  unity,  the  work  which  should 
aim  at  the  maximum  of  amusement,  ought  to  rely 
on  the  maximum  of  variety.  And  in  that  view  it  is 
that  we  urge  the  paramount  pretensions  of  Herodotus  : 
since  not  only  are  his  topics  separately  of  primary 
interest,  each  for  itself,  but  they  are  collectively  the 
viiost  varied  in  the  quality  of  that  interest,  and  they 
are  touched  %vith  the  most  flying  and  least  lingering 
pen  ;  Lv,  of  all  writ'^rs,  Herodotus  is  the  most  cautious 
not  to  trespass  on  his  reader's  patience  :  his  transitions 
are  the  most  fluent  whilst  they  are  the  most  endless, 
justifying  themselves  to  the  understanding  as  much  as 
they  recommend  themselves  to  the  spirit  of  hurrying 
curiosity ;  and  his  narrations  or  descriptions  are  thj 
most  animated  by  the  generality  of  their  abstractions 
whilst  they  are  the  most  faithfull}  individual  by  lh« 
felicity  of  their  minute  circumstances. 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    HEKODOTUS.  39? 

Once,  and  in  a  public  situation,  we  ourselvea  de- 
nominated Herodotus  the  Froissart  of  antiquity.  But 
we  were  then  speaking  of  hira  eyclusively  as  an 
historian ;  and  even  so,  we  did  him  injustice.  Thus 
far  it  is  true  the  two  men  agree,  that  both  are  less 
political,  or  reflecting,  or  moralizing,  as  historians, 
than  they  are  scenical  and  splendidly  picturesque. 
But  Froissart  is  little  else  than  an  historian.  Whereas 
Herodotus  is  the  counterpart  of  some  ideal  Pandora, 
by  the  universality  of  his  accomplishments.  He  is  a 
traveller  of  discovery,  like  Captain  Cook  or  Park. 
He  is  a  naturalist,  the  earliest  that  existed.  He  is  a 
mythologist,  and  a  speculator  on  the  origin,  as  well  as 
value,  of  religious  rites.  He  is  a  political  economist 
by  instinct  of  genius,  before  the  science  of  economy 
had  a  name  or  a  conscious  function  ;  and  by  two  great 
records,  he  has  put  us  up  to  the  level  of  all  that  can 
excite  our  curiosity  at  that  great  era  of  moving  civi- 
lization :  —  first,  as  respects  Persia,  by  the  elaborate 
review  of  the  various  satrapies  or  great  lieutenancies 
of  the  empire  —  that  vast  empire  which  had  absorbed 
the  Assyrian,  Median,  Babylonian,  Little  Syrian,  and 
Egyptian  kingdoms,  registering  against  each  separate 
viceroyalty,  from  Algiers  to  Lahore  beyond  the  Indus, 
what  was  the  amount  of  its  annual  tribute  to  the 
gorgeous  exchequer  of  Susa ;  and  secondly,  as  re- 
spects Greece,  by  his  review  of  the  numerous  little 
Grecian  states,  and  their  several  contingents  in  ships, 
or  in  soldiers,  or  in  both,  (according  as  their  position 
happened  to  be  inland  or  maritime,)  towards  the  uni- 
versal armament  against  the  second  and  greatest  of 
♦.he  Persian  invasions.  Twc  such  documents,  such 
wchives  of  political  economy,  do  not  exist  elsewhere 


392  PHILOSOPHY    OF    HERODOTUS. 

in  history.  Egypt  had  now  ceased,  and  we  may  say 
that  (according  to  the  Scriptural  prophecy)  it  had 
ceased  forever  to  be  an  independent  realm.  Persia 
had  now  for  seventy  years  had  her  foot  upon  the  necK 
of  this  unhappy  land  ;  and,  in  one  century  beyond  the 
death  of  Herodotus,  the  two-horned  he-goat^  of  Mac(.- 
don  was  destined  to  butt  it  down  into  hopeless  prostra- 
tion. But  so  far  as  Egypt,  from  her  vast  antiquity,  oi 
from  her  great  resources,  was  entitled  to  a  more  cir- 
cumstantial notice  than  any  other  satrapy  of  the  great 
empire,  such  a  notice  it  has  ;  and  we  do  not  scruple 
to  say,  though  it  may  seem  a  bold  word,  that,  from 
the  many  scattered  features  of  Egyptian  habits  or 
usages  incidentally  indicated  by  Herodotus,  a  better 
portrait  of  Egyptian  life,  and  a  better  abstract  of 
Egyptian  political  economy,  might  even  yet  be  gath- 
ered, than  from  all  the  writers  of  Greece  for  the  cities 
of  their  native  land. 

But  take  him  as  an  exploratory  traveller  and  as  a 
naturalist,  who  had  to  break  ground  for  the  earliest 
entrenchments  in  these  new  functions  of  knowledge  ; 
we  do  not  scruple  to.  say  that  mutatis  mutandis,  and 
^vncessis  concedendis,  Herodotus  has  the  separata 
qualifications  of  the  two  men  whom  we  would  select 
by  preference  as  the  most  distinguished  amongst 
Christian  traveller-naturalists  ;  he  has  the  universality 
of  the  Prussian  Humboldt ;  and  he  has  the  picturesque 
fidelity  to  nature  of  the  English  Dampier  —  of  whom 
the  last  was  a  simple  self-educated  seaman,  but  stiong- 
minded  by  nature,  austerely  accurate  through  hia 
moral  reverence  for  truth,  and  zealous  in  pursuit  of 
knowledge,  to  an  excess  which  raises  him  to  a  leve 
»rith  the   noble  Greek.     Dampier,  when  in  the   las 


FHILOSOIiiY    OF    HERODOTUS.  393 

stage  of  exhaustion  from  a  malignant  dysentery,  unable 
to  stand  upright,  and  surrounded  by  perils  in  a  land 
of  infidel  fanatics,  crawled  on  bis  hands  and  feet  to 
verify  some  fact  of  natural  history,  under  the  blazing 
forenoon  of  the  tropics ;  and  Herodotus,  having  no 
motive  but  his  own  inexhaustible  thirst  of  knowledge, 
embarked  on  a  separate  voyage,  fraught  with  hardships, 
towards  a  chance  of  clearing  up  what  seemed  a  diffi- 
culty of  some  importance  in  deducing  the  religious 
mythology  of  his  country. 

But  it  is  in  those  characters  by  which  he  is  best 
known  to  the  world  —  viz.,  as  an  historian  and  a 
geographer  —  that  Herodotus  levies  the  heaviest  tribute 
on  our  reverence ;  and  precisely  in  those  charac- 
ters it  is  that  he  now  claims  the  amplest  atonement, 
having  formerly  sustained  the  grossest  outrages  of 
insult  and  slander  on  the  peculiar  merits  attached  to 
each  of  those  characters.  Credulous  he  was  supposed 
to  be,  in  a  degree  transcending  the  privilege  of  old 
garrulous  nurses  ;  hyperbolically  extravagant  beyond 
Sir  John  Mandeville  ;  and  lastly,  as  if  he  had  been  a 
Mendez  Pinto  or  a  Munchausen,  he  was  saluted  as  the 
'father  of  lies.''^  Now,  on  these  calumnies,  it  ia 
oleasant  to  know  that  his  most  fervent  admirer  no 
longer  feels  it  requisite  to  utter  one  word  in  the  way 
of  complaint  or  vindication.  Time  has  carried  hira 
round  to  the  diametrical  counterpole  of  estimation. 
Examination  and  more  learned  study  have  justified 
every  iota  of  those  statements  to  which  he  pledged  his 
own  prixmte  authority.  His  chronology  is  better  to 
ills  daf  than  any  single  svntem  opposed  to  it.  His 
dimensions  and  distances  are  so  far  superior  to  those 
"if  later  travellers,  whose  hands  were  strengthened  hj 


394  THILOSOrHV    OF    HERODOTUS. 

all  tlie  powers  of  military  command  and  regal  au- 
tocracy, that  Major  Rennell,  upon  a  deliberate  retro- 
Bpect  of  his  works,  preferred  his  authority  to  that  of 
those  who  came  after  him  as  conquerors  and  rulers  of 
the  kingdoms  which  he  had  described  as  a  simple 
traveller ;  nay,  to  the  late  authority  of  those  who  had 
conquered  those  conquerors.  It  is  gratifying  that  a 
judge,  so  just  and  thoughtful  as  the  Major,  should 
declare  the  reports  of  Alexander's  officers  on  the  dis- 
tances and  stations  in  the  Asiatic  part  of  his  empire, 
less  trustworthy  by  much  than  the  reports  of  Herodo- 
tus :  yet,  who  was  more  liberally  devoted  to  science 
than  Alexander  ?  or  what  were  the  humble  powers  of 
the  foot  traveller  in  comparison  with  those  of  the 
mighty  earth-shaker,  for  whom  prophecy  had  been  on 
the  watch  for  centuries  ?  It  is  gratifying,  that  a  judge 
like  the  Major  should  find  the  same  advantage  on  the 
side  of  Herodotus,  as  to  the  distances  in  the  Egyptian 
and  Libyan  part  of  this  empire,  on  a  comparison  with 
the  most  accomplished  of  Romans,  Pliny,  Strabo, 
Ptolemy,  (for  all  are  Romans  who  benefitted  by  any 
Roman  machinery,)  coming  five  and  six  centuries 
later.  We  indeed  hold  the  accuracy  of  Herodotus  to 
\>e  all  but  marvellous,  considering  the  wretched  appa- 
ratus which  he  could  then  command  in  the  popular 
measures.  The  stadium,  it  is  true,  was  more  accu- 
rate, because  less  equivocal  in  those  Grecian  days, 
than  afterwards,  when  it  inter-oscillated  with  the 
Roman  stadium  ;  but  all  the  multiples  of  that  stadium, 
such  as  the  schoRnus,  the  Persian  parasang,  or  the 
military  stathmzis,  were  only  less  vague  than  the  cost 
of  Hindostan  in  their  ideal  standards,  and  as  fluctua- 
ting practically  as  are  all  computed  distances  at  al. 


PHILOSOrHY    OF    HERODOTUS.  395 

times  and  places.  The  close  approximations  of  Herod- 
otus to  tlie  returns  of  distances  upon  caravan  routed 
of  five  hundred  miles  by  the  most  vigilant  of  modern 
travellers,  checked  by  the  caravan  controllers,  is  a 
bitter  retort  upon  his  calumniators.  And,  as  to  the 
consummation  of  the  insults  against  him  in  the  charge 
of  wilful  falsehood,  we  explain  it  out  of  hasty  reading 
and  slight  acquaintance  with  Greek.  The  sensibility 
of  Herodotus  to  his  own  future  character  in  this  re- 
spect, under  a  deep  consciousness  of  his  upright  for- 
bearance on  the  one  side,  and  of  the  extreme  liability 
on  the  other  side  to  uncharitable  construction  for  any 
man  moving  amongst  Egyptian  thaumaturgical  tradi- 
tions, comes  forward  continually  in  his  anxious  dis- 
tinctions between  what  he  gives  on  his  own  ocular 
experience  (6\pL<;)  —  what  upon  his  own  inquiries,  or 
combination  of  inquiries  with  previous  knowledge 
(to-Topt'a)  —  what  upon  hearsay  (aKor'i)  —  what  upon 
current  tradition  (Aoyos).  And  the  evidences  are  mul- 
tiplied over  and  above  these  distinctions,  of  the  irrita- 
tion which  beseiged  his  mind  as  to  the  future  wrongs 
he  might  sustain  from  the  careless  and  the  unprinci- 
pled. Had  truth  been  less  precious  in  his  eyes,  was 
it  tolerable  to  be  supposed  a  liar  for  so  vulgar  an 
object  as  that  of  creating  a  stare  by  wonder-making  ? 
The  high-minded  Grecian,  justly  proud  of  his  supei'b 
intellectual  resources  for  taking  captive  the  imagina- 
tions of  his  half-polished  countrymen,  disdained  such 
base  artifices,  which  belong  more  properly  to  an 
effeminate  and  over-stimulated  stage  of  civilization. 
A.nd,  once  for  all,  he  had  annunccd  at  an  early 
point  as  the  principle  of  his  work,  as  what  ran  along 
4ie  whole  line   of  his  statements  by  way  of  basis  ol 


S'JG  I'UILOSOPHY    OF    HERODOTUS. 

Bubsumption,  (^Trapa  TrdvTa  tov  Xoyov  VTro/ceirat)  —  that 
he  wrote  upon  the  faith  of  hearsay  from  the  Egyptians 
severally:  meaning  by  'severally,'  (iKaarwv)  —  that  he 
did  not  adopt  any  chance  hearsay,  but  such  as  wm 
guarantied  by  the  men  who  presided  over  each  several 
department  of  Egyptian  official  or  ceremonial  life. 

Having  thus  said  something  towards  re- vindicating 
for  Herodotus  his  proper  station  —  first,  as  a  power  in 
literature  ;  next,  as  a  geographer,  economist,  mytholo- 
gist,  antiquary,  historian  —  we  shall  draw  the  reader's 
attention  to  the  remarkable  '  set  of  the  current '  to- 
wards that  very  consummation  and  result  of  justice 
amongst  the  learned  within  the  last  two  generations. 
There  is  no  such  case  extant  of  truth  slowly  righting 
itself.  Seventy  years  ago,  the  reputation  of  Herodotus 
for  veracity  was  at  the  lowest  ebb.  That  prejudice 
still  survives  popularly.  But  amongst  the  learned,  it 
has  gradually  given  way  to  better  scholarship,  and  to 
two  generations  of  travellers,  starting  with  far  superior 
preparation  for  their  difficult  labors.  Accordingly,  at 
this  day,  each  successive  commentator,  better  able  to 
read  Greek,  and  better  provided  with  solutions  for  the 
inevitable  errors  of  a  reporter,  drawing  upon  other? 
for  his  facts,  with  only  an  occasional  interposition  of 
his  own  opinion,  comes  \\'ith  increasing  reverence  to 
his  author.  The  laudator  temporis  acti  takes  for 
granted  in  his  sweeping  ignorance,  that  we  of  the 
present  generation  are  less  learned  than  our  immediate 
predecessors.  It  happens,  that  all  over  Europe  the 
course  of  learning  has  bsen  precisely  in  the  inverse 
direction,  Poor  was  the  condition  of  Greek  learning 
ui  England,  when  Dr.  Cooke  (one  of  the  five  wretched 
old  boys  who    operated    upon    Gray's  Elegy    in    tij« 


FHILOSOrUT    OF    HEKODOXUS.  3;>7 

character  of  Greek  translators)  presided  at  Cambridge 
us  their  Greek  professor.  See,  or  rather  touch  with 
the  tongs,  his  edition^^  of  Aristotle's  Poetics.  Equally 
poor  was  its  condition  in  Germany  ;  for,  if  one  swal- 
low could  make  a  summer,  we  had  that  in  England. 
Poorer  by  far  was  its  condition  (as  generally  it  is)  in 
France  :  where  a  great  Don  in  Greek  letters,  an  Abbe 
who  passed  for  unfathomably  learned,  having  occasion 
to  translate  a  Greek  sentence,  saying  that  '  Herodotus, 
even  whilst  Tonicizing,  (using  the  Ionic  dialect,)  had 
yet  spelt  a  particular  name  with  the  alpha  and  not 
with  the  eta,'  rendered  the  passage  '  Herodote  et 
aussi  Jazon.'  The  Greek  words  were  these  three  — 
'  HpoSoTos  Koi  Id^wv.*  He  had  never  heard  that  kul 
means  even  almost  as  often  as  it  means  and:  thus  he  in- 
troduced to  the  world,  a  fine  new  author,  one  Jazon, 
Esquire  ;  and  the  squire  holds  his  place  in  the  learned 
Abbe's  book  to  this  day.  Good  Greek  scholars  are 
now  in  the  proportion  of  perhaps  sixty  to  one  by 
comparison  with  the  penultimate  generation  ;  and  this 
proportion  holds  equally  for  Germany  and  for  Eng- 
land. So  that  the  restoration  of  Herodotus  to  his 
place  in  literature,  his  Palingenesia,  has  been  no 
caprice,  but  is  due  to  the  vast  depositions  of  knowl- 
edge, equal  for  the  last  seventy  or  eighty  years  to  the 
accumulated  product  of  the  entire  previous  interval 
from  Herodotus  to  1760,  in  every  one  of  tliose  par- 
ticular fields  which  this  author  was  led  by  his  situation 
to  cultivate. 

Meantime  the  work  of  cleansing  this  great  tank  or 

depository  of  archaeology  (the  one  sole  reservoir,  so 

placed  in  point  of  time  as  to  coilect  and  draw  all  the 

lontributions  from    the    frontier  ground   between  th* 

•  Herodotus  even  whilst  lonici/'ng. 


398  PUILOSOPHY    OF    UEKODOTUS. 

mythical  and  the  historical  period)  is  still  proceeding 
Every  fresh  laborer,  by  new  accessions  of  direct  aid, 
or  by  new  combinations  of  old  suggestions,  finds  him- 
self able  to  purify  the  interpretation  of  Herodotus  by 
wider  analogies,  or  to  account  for  his  mistakes  by  more 
accurately  developing  the  situation  of  the  speaker. 
We  also  bring  our  own  unborrowed  contributions.  We 
also  would  wish  to  promote  this  great  labor,  which,  be 
it  remembered,  concerns  no  secondary  section  of  hu- 
man progress,  searches  no  blind  corners  or  nooks  of 
history,  but  traverses  the  very  crests  and  summits  of 
human  annals,  with  a  solitary  exception  for  the  Hebrew 
Scriptures,  so  far  as  opening  civilization  is  concerned. 
The  commencement  —  the  solemn  inauguration  —  of 
history,  is  placed  no  doubt  in  the  commencement  of 
the  Olympiads,  777  years  before  Christ.  The  doora 
of  the  great  theatre  were  then  thrown  open.  That  is 
undeniable.  But  the  performance  did  not  actually 
commence  till  555  B.  C,  (the  locus  of  Cyrus.)  Then 
began  the  great  tumult  of  nations  —  the  termashaw,  to 
speak  Bengalice.  Then  began  the  procession,  the 
pomp,  the  interweaving  of  the  western  tribes,  not 
always  by  bodily  presence,  but  by  the  actio  in  distans 
of  politics.  And  the  birth  of  Herodotus  was  precisely 
in  the  seventy-first  year  from  that  period.  It  is  the 
greatest  of  periods  that  is  concerned.  And  we  also  as 
willingly,  we  repeat,  would  offer  our  contingent.  What 
we  propose  to  do,  is  to  bring  forward  two  or  three  im- 
portant suggestions  of  others  not  yet  popularly  known 
—  shaping  and  pointing,  if  possible,  their  application 
—  brightening  their  justice,  or  strengthening  their  out- 
.incs.  And  with  these  we  propose  to  intermingle  ona 
or  two  suggestions,  more  exclusively  our  own. 


pniliOSOPHY    OF    HERODOrUS.  399 

I.  —  The  Non-Planetary  Earth  of  Herodotus  in  its 
relation  to  the  Planetary  Sun. 

Mr.  Hennann  Bobrik  is  the  first  torch-bearer  to  He- 
rodotus, who  has  thrown  a  strong  light  on  his  theory  of 
^he  earth's  relation  to  the  solar  system.  This  is  one  of 
the  prcBcognita,  literally  indispensable  to  the  compre- 
hension of  the  geographical  basis  assumed  by  Herodo- 
tus. And  it  is  really  interesting  to  see  how  one 
original  error  had  drawn  after  it  a  train  of  others  — 
how  one  restoration  of  light  has  now  illuminated  a 
whole  hemisphere  of  objects.  We  suppose  it  the  very 
next  thing  to  a  fatal  impossibility,  that  any  man  should 
at  once  rid  his  mind  so  profoundly  of  all  natural  biases 
from  education,  or  almost  from  human  instinct,  as 
barely  to  suspect  the  physical  theory  of  Herodotus  — 
barely  to  imagine  the  idea  of  a  divorce  occurring  in 
any  theory  between  the  solar  orb  and  the  great  phe- 
nomena of  summer  and  winter.  Prejudications,  hav- 
ing the  force  of  a  necessity,  had  blinded  generation 
after  generation  of  students  to  the  very  admission  iw 
limine  of  such  a  theory  as  could  go  the  length  of  de- 
throning the  sun  himself  from  all  influence  over  the 
great  vicissitudes  of  heat  and  cold  —  seed-time  and 
harvest  —  for  man.  They  did  not  see  what  actually 
teas,  what  lay  broadly  below  their  eyes,  in  Herodotus, 
because  it  seemed  too  fantastic  a  dream  to  suppose 
that  it  could  be.  The  case  is  far  more  common  than 
feeble  psychologists  imagine.  Numerous  are  the  in- 
Btances  in  which  we  actually  see  —  not  that  which  in 
eally  there  to  be  seen  —  but  that  which  we  believe  c 
friori  ought  to  be  there.  And  in  cases  so  palpable  as 
that  of  an  external  sense,  it  is  not  difficult  to  set  the 


iOO  PHILOSOrHT    OF    HEKODOTUS 

student  on  his  guard.  But  in  cases  more  intellecfnal 
or  moral,  like  several  in  Herodotus,  it  is  difficult  for  the 
teacher  himself  to  be  effectually  ^dgilant.  It  was  not 
anything  actually  seen  by  Herodotus  which  led  him 
into  denying  the  solar  functions  ;  it  was  his  own  inde- 
pendent speculation.  This  suggested  to  him  a  plausi- 
ble hypothesis  ;  plausible  it  was  for  that  age  of  the 
world  ;  and  afterwards,  on  applying  it  to  the  actual 
difficulties  of  the  case,  this  hypothesis  seemed  so  far 
good,  that  it  did  really  unlock  them.  The  case  stood 
thus :  —  Herodotus  contemplated  Cold  not  as  a  mere 
privation  of  Heat,  but  as  a  positive  quality  ;  quite  as 
much  entitled  to  '  high  consideration,'  in  the  language 
of  ambassadors,  as  its  rival  heat ;  and  quite  as  much 
to  a  '  retiring  pension,'  in  case  of  being  superannuated. 
Thus  we  all  know,  from  Addison's  fine  raillery,  that  a 
certain  philosopher  regarded  darkness  not  at  all  as  any 
result  from  the  absence  of  light,  but  fancied  that,  as 
some  heavenly  bodies  are  luminaries,  so  others  (which 
he  called  lenehrijic  stars)  might  have  the  office  of  '  ray- 
ing out  positive  darkness.'  In  the  infancy  of  science, 
the  idea  is  natural  to  the  human  mind  ;  and  we  re- 
member hearing  a  great  m-an  of  our  own  times  declare, 
that  no  sense  of  conscious  power  had  ever  so  vividly 
dilated  his  mind,  nothing  so  like  a  revelation,  as  when 
one  day  in  broad  sunshine,  whilst  yet  a  child,  he 
discovered  that  his  own  shadow,  which  he  had  often 
angrily  hunted,  was  no  real  existence,  but  a  mere  hin- 
dering  of  the  sun's  light  from  filling  uj)  the  space 
screened  by  his  own  body.  The  old  grudge,  which  he 
cherished  against  this  coy  fugitive  shadow,  melted 
iway  in  the  rapture  if  this  great  discovery.  To  him 
the  discovery  had  dot  btless  been  originally  half-  sug- 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    HERODOTUS.  401 

gested  by  explanations  of  liis  elders  imperfectly  com« 
prehended.  But  in  itself  the  distinction  between  the 
affirmative  and  the  negative  is  a  step  perhaps  the  mcs* 
costly  in  effort  of  any  that  the  human  mind  is  sum- 
moned to  take  ;  and  the  greatest  indulgence  is  due  to 
those  early  stages  of  civilization  when  this  step  had 
not  been  taken.  For  Herodotus,  there  existed  two 
great  counter-forces  in  absolute  hostility  —  heat  and 
cold  ;  and  these  forces  were  incarnated  in  the_  winds. 
It  was  the  north  and  north-east  wind,  not  any  distance 
of  the  sun,  which  radiated  cold  and  frost ;  it  was  the 
southern  wind  from  Ethiopia,  not  at  all  the  sun,  which 
radiated  heat.  But  could  a  man  so  sagacious  as  He- 
rodotus stand  with  his  ample  Grecian  forehead  exposed 
to  the  noonday  sun,  and  suspect  no  pai't  of  the  calorific 
agency  to  be  seated  in  the  sun  ?  Certainly  he  could 
not.  But  this  partial  agency  is  no  more  than  what  we 
of  this  day  allow  to  secondary  or  tertiary  causes  apart 
from  the  principal.  We,  that  regard  the  sun  as  upon 
the  whole  our  planetary  fountain  of  light,  yet  recog- 
nize an  electrical  aurora,  a  zodiacal  light,  &c.,  as  sub- 
stitutes not  palpably  dependent.  "We  that  regard  the 
Bun  as  upon  the  whole  our  fountain  of  heat,  yet  recog- 
nize many  co-operative,  many  modifying  forces  having 
the  same  office  —  such  as  the  local  configuration  of 
ground  —  such  as  sea  neighborhoods  or  land  neighbor- 
hoods, marshes  or  none,  forests  or  none,  strata  of  soil 
fitted  to  retain  heat  and  fund  it,  or  to  disperse  it  and 
cool  it.  Precisely  in  the  same  way  Herodotus  did 
lllow  an  agency  to  the  sun  upon  the  daily  range  of 
heat,  though  he  allowed  none  to  the  same  luminary  in 
egulating  the  annual  range.  What  caused  the  spring 
%nd  autumn,  the  summer  and  winter,  (though  geuoraily 
26 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    HERODOTUS. 

m  those  ages  there  were  but  two  seasons  recognized,) 
was  the  action  of  the  winds.  The  diurnal  arch  of  hea 
(as  we  may  call  it)  ascending  from  sunrise  to  some 
hour,  (say  two  P.  M.,)  when  the  sum  of  the  two  heats 
(the  funded  annual  heat  and  the  fresh  increments  of 
aaily  heat)  reaches  its  maximum,  and  the  descending 
limb  of  the  same  arch  from  this  hour  to  sunset  —  this 
♦le  explained  entirely  out  of  the  sun's  daily  revolution, 
which  to  him  was,  of  course,  no  apparent  motion,  but  a 
real  one  in  the  sun.  It  is  truly  amusing  to  hear  the 
great  man's  infantine  simplicity  In  describing  the 
effects  of  the  solar  journey.  The  sun  rises,  it  seems, 
in  India  ;^  and  these  poor  Indians,  roasted  by  whole 
nations  at  break  fast- time,  are  then  up  to  their  chins  in 
water,  whilst  we  thankless  Westerns  are  taking  '  tea 
and  toast'  at  our  ease.  However,  it  is  a  long  lane 
which  has  no  turning ;  and  by  noon  the  sun  has  driven 
80  many  stages  away  from  India,  that  the  poor  crea- 
tures begin  to  come  out  of  their  rivers,  and  really  find 
things  tolerably  comfortable.  India  is  now  cooled 
down  to  a  balmy  Grecian  temperature.  '  All  right 
behind ! '  as  the  mail-coach  guards  observe  ;  but  not 
quite  right  ahead,  Avhen  the  sun  is  racing  away  over 
the  boiling  brains  of  the  Ethiopians,  Libyans,  &c.,  and 
driving  Jupiter-Ammon  perfectly  distracted  Avith  hia 
Turuace.  But  when  things  are  at  the  worst,  the  proverb 
assures  us  that  they  will  mend.  And  for  an  early  five 
o'clock  dinner,  Ethiopia  finds  that  she  has  no  greai 
reason  to  complain.  All  civilized  people  are  now  cool 
and  happy  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  But,  as  to  the 
ivoolly-headed  rascals  on  the  west  coast  of  Africa,  they 
catch  it'  towards  sunset,  and  '  no  mistake.'  Yet  whj 
troublo  our  heads  about  inconsiderable   black  fellow! 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    HEEODOXUS.  403 

like  them,  who  have  been  cool  all  day  whilst  bettei 
men  were  melting  away  by  pailfuls  ?  And  such  is  the 
history  of  a  summer's  day  in  the  heavens  above  and 
on  the  earth  beneath.  As  to  little  Greece,  she  is  but 
skirted  by  the  sun,  who  keeps  away  far  to  the  south  ; 
thus  she  is  maintained  in  a  charming  state  of  equilib- 
rium by  her  fortunate  position  on  the  very  frontier  line 
cf  the  fierce  Boreas  and  the  too  voluptuous  Notos. 

Meantime  one  effect  follows  from  this  transfer  of  the 
golar  functions  to  the  winds,  which  has  not  been  re- 
marked, —  viz.  that  Herodotus  has  a  double  north ; 
one  governed  by  the  old  noisy  Boreas,  another  by  the 
silent  constellation  Arktos,  And  the  consequence  of 
this  fluctuating  north,  as  might  be  guessed,  is  the  want 
of  any  true  north  at  all ;  for  the  two  points  of  the  wind 
ai:d  tlie  constellation  do  not  coincide  in  the  first  place  ; 
and  secondly,  the  wind  does  not  coincide  with  itself, 
but  naturally  traverses  through  a  few  points  right  and 
left.  Next,  the  east  also  will  be  indeterminate  from  a 
difi"erent  cause.  Had  Herodotus  lived  in  a  high  north- 
ern latitude,  there  is  no  doubt  that  the  ample  range  of 
iifference  between  the  northerly  points  of  rising  in  the 
summer  and  the  southerly  in  winter,  would  have  forced 
nis  attention  upon  the  fact,  that  only  at  the  equinox, 
vernal  or  autumnal,  does  the  sun's  rising  accurately 
coincide  with  the  east.  But  in  his  Ionian  climate,  the 
deflections  either  way,  to  the  north  or  to  the  south,  were 
too  inconsiderable  to  force  themselves  upon  the  eye; 
und  thus  a  more  indeterminate  east  would  arise  — 
never  rigorously  corrected,  because  requiring  so  mode- 
rate a  correction.  Now,  a  vagu^  unsettled  east,  would 
support  a  vague  unsettled  north.  And  of  course, 
through  whatever  arch  of  variations  cither  of  these 


404  PHILOSOPHY    OF    HERODOTUS. 

points  vibrated,  precisely  upon  that  scale  the  west  and 
Mie  south  would  follow  them. 

Thus  arises,  upon  a  simple  and  easy  genesis,  that 
condition  of  the  compass  (to  use  the  word  by  anticij)a- 
tion)  which  must  have  tended  to  confuse  the  geograph- 
ical system  of  Herodotus,  and  which  does,  in  fact, 
account  for  the  else  unaccountable  obscurities  in  some 
of  its  leading  features.  These  anomalous  features 
would,  on  their  own  account,  have  deserved  notice  ; 
but  now,  after  this  explanation,  they  vnll  have  a  sepa- 
rate value  of  illustrated  proofs  in  relation  to  the  present 
article,  No.  I. 

II.  —  The  Danube  of  Herodotus  considered  as  a  coun- 
terpole  to  the  Nile. 

There  is  nothing  more  perplexing  to  some  of  the 
many  commentators  on  Herodotus  than  all  which  he 
says  of  the  river  Danube  ;  nor  anything  easier,  under 
the  preparation  of  the  preceding  article.  The  Danube, 
or,  in  the  nomenclature  of  Herodotus,  the  Istros,  is 
described  as  being  in  all  respects  ix  naQaUtjXov,  by  which 
we  ijiust  understand  corresponding  rigorously,  but 
antistrophically,  (as  the  Greeks  express  it,)  similar 
angles,  similar  dimensions,  but  in  an  inverse  order,  to 
the  Egyptian  Nile.  The  Nile,  in  its  monstrous  section, 
ilows  from  south  to  north.  Consequently  the  Danube, 
by  the  rule  of  parallelism,  ought  to  flow  through  a 
corresponding  section  from  north  to  south.  But,  s&y 
the  commentators,  it  does  not.  Now,  verbally  thej 
might  seem  -svrong  ;  but  substantially,  as  regards  the 
'ustification  of  Herodotus,  they  are  right.  Our  business 
lowover,  is  not  to  justify  Herodotus,  but  to  explain  him. 
Undoubtedly  there  is  a  point  about  one  hundred  ana 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    HEKODOTUS.  405 

fifty  miles  east  of  Vienna,  where  the  Danube  descends 
almost  due  south  for  a  space  of  three  hundred  miles ; 
and  this  is  a  very  memorable  reach  of  the  river  ;  for 
somewhere  within  that  long  corridor  of  land  which  lieF 
between  itself,  (this  Danube  section,)  and  a  direct 
parallel  section  equally  long,  of  the  Hungarian  rivei 
Theiss,  once  lay,  in  the  fifth  century,  the  royal  city  ox 
encampment  of  Attila.  Gibbon  placed  the  city  in  the 
northern  part  of  this  corridor,  (or,  strictly  speaking, 
this  Mesopotamia,)  consequently  about  two  hundred 
miles  to  the  east  of  Vienna :  but  others,  and  especially 
Hungarian  writers,  better  acquainted  by  personal  ex- 
Rmination  with  the  ground,  remove  it  to  one  hundred 
and  fifty  miles  more  to  the  south  —  that  is,  to  the 
centre  of  the  corridor,  (or  gallery  of  land  enclosed  by 
the  two  rivers.)  Now,  undoubtedly,  except  along  the 
margin  of  this  Attila' s  corridor,  there  is  no  considerable 
section  of  the  Danube  which  flows  southward  ;  and  this 
will  not  answer  the  postulates  of  Herodotus.  Generally 
speaking,  the  Danube  holds  a  headlong  course  to  the 
east.  Undoubtedly  this  must  be  granted ;  and  so  fat 
it  might  seem  hopeless  to  seek  for  that  kind  of  parallel- 
ism to  the  Nile  which  Herodotus  asserts.  Bat  the 
question  for  us  does  not  concern  what  is  or  then  was  — ■ 
the  question  is  solely  about  what  Herodotus  can  be 
shown  to  have  meant.  And  here  comes  in,  seasonably 
and  serviceably,  that  vagueness  as  to  the  points  of  the 
compass  which  we  have  explained  in  the  preceding 
article .  This,  connected  with  the  positive  assertion  of 
Herodotus  as  to  an  inverse  correspondency  with  the 
Kile,  (north  and  south,  therefore,  as  the  antistrophe  to 
>)uth  and  north,)  would  place  beyond  a  doubt  the  creed 
%f  Herodotus  —  which  is  the  question  that  concerns 


406  PHILOSOPHY    OF    HEK0D0TU8. 

Hs.  And,  vice  versa,  this  creed  of  Herodotus  as  to  the 
course  of  the  Danube,  in  its  main  latter  section  when 
approaching  the  Euxine  Sea,  re-acts  to  confirm  all  we 
have  said,  propria  marte,  on  the  indeterminate  articu- 
lation of  the  Ionian  compass  then  current.  Here  we 
have  at  once  the  a  priori  reasons  making  it  probable 
that  Herodotus  would  have  a  vagrant  compass ;  second- 
ly, many  separate  instances  confirming  this  probability ;. 
thirdly,  the  particular  instance  of  the  Danube,  as  antis- 
trophizing  with  the  Nile,  not  reconcilable  -with  any 
other  principle  ;  and  fourthly,  the  following  indepen- 
dent demonstration,  that  the  Ionian  compass  must  have 
been  confused  in  its  leading  divisions.  Mark,  reader, 
Herodotus  terminates  his  account  of  the  Danube  and 
its  course,  by  aflJirming  that  this  mighty  river  enters 
the  Euxine  —  at  what  point?  Opposite,  says  he,  to 
Sinope.  Could  that  have  been  imagined?  Sinope, 
being  a  Greek  settlement  in  a  region  where  such  settle- 
ments were  rare,  was  notorious  to  all  the  world  as  the 
flourishing  emporium,  on  the  south  shore  of  the  Black 
Sea,  of  a  civilized  people,  literally  hustled  by  barba- 
rians. Consequently  —  and  tliis  is  a  point  to  which  all 
commentators  alike  are  blind  —  the  Danube  descends 
rpon  the  Euxine  in  a  long  line  running  due  south 
Else,  we  demand,  how  could  it  antistrophize  with  the 
Nile  ?  Elt.«,  we  demand,  how  could  it  lie  right  over 
against  the  Sinope  ?  Else,  we  demand,  how  could  it 
make  that  right-angle  bend  to  the  west  in  the  earlier 
lection  of  its  course,  which  is  presupposed  in  its  perfect 
analogy  to  the  Nile  of  Herodotus  ?  If  already  it  were 
'ying  east  and  west  in  that  lower  part  of  its  course 
which  approaches  the  Euxine,  what  occasion  could  it 
liffer  for  a  right-angle  turn,  or  for  any  turn  at  all  — 


PHIIiOSOPHY    OF    HEKODOTUS.  4U7 

what  possibility  for  any  angle  whatever  between  this 
lower  reach  and  that  superior  reach  so  confessedly 
running  eastward,  according  to  all  accounts  of  its 
derivation  ? 

For  as  respects  the  Nile,  by  way  of  close  to  this 
article,  it  remains  to  inform  the  reader  —  that  He- 
rodotus had  evidently  met  in  Upper  Egypt  slaves  ox 
captives  in  war  from  the  regions  of  Soudon,  Tombuc- 
too,  &c.  This  is  the  opinion  of  Rennell,  of  Browne, 
the  visiter  of  the  Ammonian  Oasis,  and  many  other 
principal  authorities ;  and  for  a  reason  which  we 
always  regard  with  more  respect,  though  it  were  the 
weakest  of  reasons,  than  all  the  authorities  of  this 
world  clubbed  together.  And  this  reason  was  the 
coincidence  of  what  Herodotus  reports,  with  the  truth 
of  facts  first  ascertained  thousands  of  years  later. 
These  slaves,  or  some  people  from  those  quarters,  had 
told  him  of  a  vast  river  lying  east  and  west,  of  course 
the  Niger,  but  (as  he  and  they  supposed)  a  superior 
section  of  the  Nile  ;  and  therefore,  by  geometrical 
necessity,  falling  at  right  angles  upon  that  other  section 
of  the  Nile,  so  familiar  to  himself,  lying  south  and 
north.  Hence  arose  a  faith  that  is  not  primarily  hence, 
out  hence  in  combination  with  a  previous  construction 
existing  in  his  mind  for  the  geometry  of  the  Danube, 
that  the  two  rivers  Danube  and  Nile  had  a  mystic 
relation  as  arctic  and  antarctic  powers  over  man. 
Herodotus  had  been  taught  to  figure  the  Danube  as  a 
stream  of  two  main  inclinations  —  an  upper  section 
rising  in  the  extreme  west  of  Europe,  (possibly  in 
Charlotte  Square,  Edinburt,h,)  whence  he  travelled 
willi  the  arrow's  flight  due  cast  in  search  of  his  wife 
ihc    Euxinc  ;    but  somewhere    in    the   middle    of  his 


408  PHILOSOPHY    OF    HEKODOTirS. 

course,  hearing  that  her  dwelling  lay  far  to  the  soutb, 
and  haA'ing  then  completed  his  distance  in  longitude, 
afterwards  he  ran  down  his  latitude  with  the  headlong 
precipitation  of  a  lover,  and  surprised  the  bride  due 
north  from  Sinope.  This  construction  it  was  of  the 
Danube's  course  which  subsequently,  upon  his  hearing 
of  a  corresponding  western  limb  for  the  Nile,  led  him 
to  perceive  the  completion  of  that  analogy  between 
the  two  rivers,  its  absolute  perfection,  which  already 
he  had  partially  suspected.  Their  very  figurations 
now  appeared  to  reflect  and  repeat  each  other  in 
solemn  mimicry,  as  previously  he  had  discovered  the 
mimical  correspondence  of  their  functions ;  for  this 
latter  doctrine  had  been  revealed  to  him  by  the  Egyp- 
tian priests,  then  the  chief  depositaries  of  Egyptian 
learning.  They  had  informed  him,  and  evidently  had 
persuaded  him,  that  already  more  than  once  the  sun 
had  gone  round  to  the  region  of  Europe  ;  pursuing 
his  diurnal  arch  as  far  to  the  north  of  Greece  as  now 
he  did  to  the  south  ;  and  carrying  in  his  equipage  all 
the  changes  of  every  kind  which  were  required  to 
make  Scythia  an  Egypt,  and  consequently  to  make 
the  Istros  a  Nile.  The  same  annual  swelling  then 
filled  the  channel  of  the  Danube,  which  at  present 
gladdens  the  Nile.  The  same  luxuriance  of  vegeta- 
tion succeeded  as  a  dowry  to  the  gay  summer-land  of 
Trans-Euxine  and  Para-Danubian  Europe,  which  for 
housands  of  years  had  seemed  the  peculiar  heirloonj 
of  Egypt.  Old  Boreas  —  we  are  glad  of  that  —  was 
required  to  pack  up  'his  alls,'  and  be  off;  his  new 
business  was  to  plague  the  black  rascals,  and  to  bake 
them  with  hoar-frost ;  which  must  have  caused  thera 
to  shake  their  earn  in  some  astonishment  for  %  fevi 


PHILOSOPHY     OF     HERODOTUS.  409 

rentvuies,  until  they  got  used  to  it.  Whereas  ♦  the 
Bweet  south  wind '  of  the  ancient  mariner,  leaving 
A-frica,  pursued  '  the  mariuer's  holloa,  all  over  the 
Euxine  and  the  Palus  McBotis.  The  Danuhe,  in  short, 
became  the  Nile ;  and  the  same  deadly  curiosity 
haunted  its  fountains.  So  that  many  a  long-legged 
Bruce  would  strike  off  in  those  days  towards  Charlotte 
Square.  But  all  in  vain  :  ♦  Nee  licuit  populis '  —  or 
Btop,  to  save  the  metre  — 

•  Nee  poteras,  Charlotte,  pcpulis  turn  parva  videri.' 

Nohody  woiild  reach  the  fountains ;  particularly  as 
there  would  be  another  arm,  El-Abiad  or  white  river, 
perhaps  at  Stockbridge.  However,  the  explorers  must 
have  '  burned '  strongly  (as  children  say  at  hide-and- 
seek)  when  they  attained  a  point  so  near  to  the  foun- 
tains as  Blackwood's  Magazine,  which  doubtless  was 
i;oing  on  pretty  well  in  those  days. 

We  are  sorry  that  Herodotus  should  have  been  so 
lilgue  and  uncircumstantial  in  his  account  of  these 
vicissitudes ;  since  it  is  pretty  evident  to  any  man  who 
reflects  on  the  case  —  that,  had  he  pursued  the  train 
of  changes  inevitable  to  Egypt  under  the  one  single 
revolution  affecting  the  Nile  itself  as  a  slime-depositing 
river,  his  judicious  intellect  would  soon  have  descried 
the  obliteration  of  the  whole  Egyptian  valley,  [else- 
where he  himself  calls  that  valley  du)Qov  rov  A'eiXov  —  n 
gift  of  the  Nile,]  consequently  the  obliteration  of  the 
people,  consequently  the  immemorial  extinction  of  all 
those  records  —  or,  if  they  were  posterior  to  the  last 
revolution  in  favor  of  Egypt,  at  any  rate  of  the  one 
record  —  which  could  have  transmitted  the  memory  of 
^Mch  an  astonishing  transfer.     Meantime  the  reader  ii 


(10  PHILOSOPHY    OF    HER0D3TUS. 

now  in  possession  of  the  whole  theory  contemplated 
by  Herodotus.  It  was  no  mere  lusus  natures  that  the 
one  river  repeated  the  other,  and,  as  it  were,  mocked 
the  other  in  form  and  geographical  relations.  It  was 
no  joke  that  lurked  under  that  mask  of  resemblance. 
Each  was  the  other  alternately.  It  was  the  case  of 
Castor  and  Pollux,  one  brother  rising  as  the  other  set. 
The  Danube  could  always  comfort  himself  with  the 
idea  —  that  he  was  the  NUe  '  elect ; '  the  other,  oi 
provisional  Nile,  only  '  continuing  to  hold  the  seals 
until  his  successor  should  \e  installed  in  office.'  The 
Nile,  in  fact,  appears  to  have  the  best  of  it  in  our 
time  ;  but  then  there  is  '  a  braw  time  coming,'  and 
after  all,  swelling  as  he  is  ^\ith  annual  conceit.  Father 
NUe,  in  parliamentary  phrase,  is  but  the  '  warming- 
pan  '  for  the  Danube  ;  keeping  the  office  warm  for 
him.  A  new  administration  is  formed,  and  out  he 
goes  bag  and  baggage. 

It  is  less  important,  however,  for  us,  though  far  moro 
BO  for  the  two  rivers,  to  speculate  on  the  reversion  of 
their  final  prospects,  than  upon  the  present  symbols 
of  this  reversion  in  the  unity  of  their  forms.  That  is, 
k  less  concerns  us  to  deduce  the  harmony  of  their 
lunctions  from  the  harmony  of  their  geographical 
courses,  than  to  abide  by  the  inverse  argument  —  that, 
where  the  former  harmony  was  so  loudly  inferred 
Prom  the  latter,  at  any  rate,  that  fact  will  demonstrate 
ihe  existence  of  the  latter  harmony  in  the  judgment 
,ind  faith  of  Herodotus.  He  could  not  possibly  have 
'nsisted  on  the  analogy  between  the  two  channels 
geographically,  as  good  in  logic  for  authenticating  a 
secret  and  prophetic  analogy  between  their  alternating 
offices,  but  that  at  least  he  must  firmly  have  believed 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    HEEODOTTTS.  411 

In  the  first  of  these  analogies  —  as  already  existing  and 
open  to  the  vsrification  of  the  human  eye.  The  second 
or  ulterior  analogy  might  be  false,  and  yet  affect  only 
its  owTi  separate  credit,  whilst  the  falsehood  of  the  first 
was  ruinous  to  the  credit  of  both.  Whence  it  is  evi- 
dent that  of  the  two  resemblances  in  form  and  function, 
^he  resemblance  in  form  was  the  least  disputable  of  the 
two  for  Herodotus. 

This  argument,  and  the  others  which  we  have  indi- 
cated, and  amongst  those  others,  above  all,  the  position 
of  the  Danube's  mouths  right  over  against  a  city  situ- 
ated as  was  Sinope,  —  i.  e.  not  doubtfully  emerging 
from  either  flank  of  the  Euxine,  west  or  east,  but 
broadly  and  almost  centrally  planted  on  the  southern 
basis  of  that  sea,  —  we  offer  as  a  body  of  demonstra- 
tive proof,  that,  to  the  mature  faith  of  Herodotus,  the 
Danube  or  Istros  ran  north  and  south  in  its  Euxine 
section,  and  that  its  right-angled  section  ran  west  and 
east  —  a  very  important  element  towards  the  true 
Europe  of  Herodotus,  which,  as  we  contend,  has  not 
)et  been  justly  conceived  or  figured  by  his  geographi- 
cal commentators. 

in.  —  On  the  Africa  of  Jlerodohis. 

There  is  an  amusing  blunder  on  this  subject  com- 
mitted by  Major  Rennell.  How  often  do  we  hear 
people  commenting  on  the  Scriptures,  and  raising  up 
aerial  edifices  of  argument,  in  which  every  iota  of  the 
ogic  rests,  unconsciously  to  themselves,  upon  the  acci- 
dental words  of  the  English  version,  and  melts  away 
ivhen  applied  to  the  original  text  ;  so  tnat,  in  fact,  the 
»(rhole  has  no  more  strength  than  if  it  were  buiJt  upon 
»  nun   or  an  equivoque,     b'uch   is  the  blunder  of  the 


112  PHILOSOPHY    OP    HEK0D0IU8. 

excellent  Major.  And  it  is  not  timidly  expressed.  At 
p.  410,  Geog.  Hist,  of  Herodotus,  tie  tlius  delivers 
himself :  — '  Although  the  term  Lybia  '  (so  thus  doet 
Rennell  always  spell  it,  instead  of  Libya)  '  is  occa- 
Bionally  used  by  Herodotus  as  synonymous  to  Africa, 
(especially  in  Melpom.,  &c.  &c.)  yet  it  is  almost  ex- 
clusively applied  to  that  part  bordering  on  the  Mediter- 
tanean  Sea  between  the  Greater  Syrtis  and  Egypt ;  ' 
*nd  he  concludes  the  paragraph  thus  :  —  'So  that 
Africa,  and  not  Lybia,  is  the  term  generally  employed 
oy  Herodotus.'  We  stared  on  reading  these  words,  as 
Aladdin  stared  when  he  found  his  palace  missing,  and 
the  old  thief,  who  had  bought  his  lamp,  trotting  off 
with  it  on  his  back  far  beyond  the  bills  of  mortality. 
Naturally  we  concluded  that  it  was  ourselves  who  must 
be  dreaming,  and  not  the  Major  ;  so,  taking  a  bed- 
candle,  off  we  marched  to  bed.  But  the  next  morning, 
air  clear  and  frosty,  ourselves  as  sagacious  as  a  grey- 
hound, we  pounced  at  first  sight  on  the  self-same  words. 
Thus,  after  all,  it  was  the  conceit  mantling  in  our  brain 
(of  being  in  that  instance  a  cut  above  the  Major)  which 
turned  out  to  be  the  sober  truth  ;  and  our  modesty,  our 
Bobriety  of  mind,  it  was  which  turned  out  a  windy 
tympany.  Certainly,  said  we,  if  this  be  so,  and  that 
the  word  Africa  is  really  standing  in  Herodotus,  then 
it  must  be  like  that  secret  island  called  'E^-jiw,  lying  in 
dome  Egyptian  lake,  which  was  reported  to  Herodotus 
as  having  concealed  itself  from  human  eyes  for  five 
hundred  and  four  years  —  a  capital  place  it  must  have 
been  against  duns  and  the  sheriff ;  for  it  was  an  Eng- 
ish  mile  in  diameter,  and  yet  no  man  could  see  it  until 
ft  fugitive  king,  happening  to  be  hard  pressed  in  the 
tear,  dived  into  the  water,  and  ca,me  up  to  the  light  ir 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    HERODOTTJS.  413 

th(i  good  little  island  ;  where  lie  lived  happily  for  fifty 
years,  and  every  day  got  bousy  as  a  piper,  in  spite  of 
all  his  enemies,  who  were  roaming  about  the  lake  night 
and  day  to  catch  his  most  gracious  majesty.  He  was 
king  of  Elbo,  at  least,  if  he  had  no  particular  subjects 
but  himself,  as  Nap  was  in  our  days  of  Elba  ;  and 
perhaps  both  were  less  plagued  with  rebels  than  when 
Bitting  on  the  ampler  thrones  of  Egypt  and  France. 
But  surely  the  good  Major  must  have  dreamed  a  dream 
about  this  word  Africa  ;  for  how  would  it  look  in  Ionic 
Greek —  jiifQixt)  ?  Did  any  man  ever  see  such  a  word  ? 
However,  let  not  the  reader  believe  that,  we  are  tri- 
umphing meanly  in  the  advantage  of  our  Greek. 
Milton,  in  one  of  his  controversial  works,  exposing  an 
insolent  antagonist  who  pretended  to  a  knowledge  of 
Hebrew,  which  in  fact  he  had  not,  remarks,  that  the 
man  must  be  ignoble,  whoever  he  were,  that  would 
catch  at  a  spurious  credit,  though  it  were  but  from  a 
ianguage  which  really  he  did  not  understand.  But  so 
far  was  Major  Rennell  from  doing  this,  that,  when  no 
call  upon  him  existed  for  saying  one  word  upon  the 
Bubjcct,  frankly  he  volunteered  a  confession  to  all  the 
world  —  that  Greek  he  had  none.  The  marvel  is  the 
greater  that,  as  Saunderson,  blind  from  his  infancy, 
was  the  best  lecturer  on  colors  early  in  the  eighteenth 
century,  so  by  far  the  best  commentator  on  the  Greek 
Herodotus  has  proved  to  be  a  military  man,  who  knew 
nothing  at  all  of  Greek.  Yes,  mark  the  excellence  of 
upright  dealing.  Had  Major  Rennell  pretended  to 
Greek,  were  it  but  as  much  as  went  to  the  spelling  of 
She  word  Africa,  here  was  he  a  lost  man.  Blackwood's 
Magazine  would  now  have  exposed  him.  "\A'her6a8, 
things  being  as  they  are,  we  respect  him  and  admir« 


114  PHILOSOrHT    OF    HEROPOTUS. 

him  sincarely.  And,  as  to  his  wanting  this  one  accom- 
plish.ment,  every  man  wants  some.  We  ourselves  can 
neither  dance  a  hornpipe  nor  whistle  Jim  Crow,  without 
driving  the  whole  musical  world  into  black  despair. 

Africa,  meantime,  is  a  word  imported  into  Herod- 
otus by  Mr.  Beloe  ;  whose  name,  we  have  been  given 
to  understand,  was  pronounced  like  that  of  our  old 
domesticated  friend  the  bellows,  shorn  of  the  s;  and 
whose  translation,  judging  from  such  extracts  as  we 
have  seen  in  books,  may  be  better  than  Littlebury's : 
but,  if  so,  we  should  be  driven  into  a  mournful  opinion 
of  Mr.  Littlebury.  Strange  that  nearly  all  the  classics, 
Roman  as  well  as  Greek,  should  be  so  meanly  repre- 
sented by  their  English  reproducers.  The  French 
translators,  it  is  true,  are  worse  as  a  body.  But  in  this 
particular  instance  of  Herodotus  they  have  a  respecta- 
ble translator.  Larcher  read  Greek  sufficiently  ;  and 
was  as  much  master  of  his  author's  peculiar  learning 
as  any  one  general  commentator  that  can  be  men- 
tioned. 

But  Africa  the  thing,  not  Africa  the  name,  is  that 
which  puzzles  all  students  of  Herodotus,  as,  mdeed, 
no  little  it  puzzled  Herodotus  himself.  Rennell  makes 
one  difficulty  where  in  fact  there  is  none  ;  viz.  that 
sometimes  Herodotus  refers  Egypt  to  Libya,  and 
sometimes  refuses  to  do  so.  But  in  this  there  is  no 
Vnconsistency,  and  no  forgetfulness.  Herodotus  wisely 
fcdopted  the  excellent  rule  of  '  thinking  with  the 
learned,  and  talking  Avith  the  people.'  Having  once 
6rmly  explained  his  reasons  for  holding  Egypt  to  be 
neither  an  Asiatic  nor  an  African,  but  the  neutra. 
frontier  artificially  created  by  the  Nile,  as  a  long  cor- 
ridor of  separation  between  Asia  and   Africa,   after 


rUILOSOPHY    OF    HERODOTUS,  ,        415 

wards,  and  generally,  lie  is  too  little  of  a  pedant  to 
taake  war  upon  current  forms  of  speech.  What  is  the 
use  of  drawing  off  men's  attention,  in  questions  about 
things,  by  impertinent  provisions  of  diction  or  by  alien 
theories  ?  Some  people  have  made  it  a  question  — 
Whether  Great  Britain  were  not  extra  European  ?  and! 
the  Island  of  Crete  is  generally  assumed  to  be  so. 
Some  lawyers  also,  nay,  some  courts  of  justice,  have 
entertained  the  question  —  Whether  a  man  could  be 
neld  related  to  his  own  mother  ?  Not  as  though  too 
remotely  related,  but  as  too  nearly,  and  in  fact  absorbed 
within  the  lunar  beams.  Yet,  in  all  such  cases,  the 
publicist  —  the  geographer  —  the  lawyer,  continue  to 
talk  as  other  people  do  ;  and,  assuredly,  the  lawyer 
would  regard  a  witness  as  perjured  who  should  say,  in 
speaking  of  a  woman  notoriously  his  mother,  '  Oh !  I 
do  assure  you.  Sir,  the  Avoman  is  no  relation  of  mine.' 
The  world  of  that  day  (and,  indeed,  it  is  not  much 
more  candid  even  now)  would  have  it  that  Libya  com- 
prehended Egypt ;  and  Herodotus,  like  the  wise  man 
that  he  was,  having  once  or  twice  lodged  his  protest 
ugainst  that  idea,  then  replies  to  the  world  — '  Very 
well,  if  you  say  so,  it  is  so  ; '  precisely  as  Petrucliio'a 
wife,  to  soothe  her  mad  husband,  agrees  that  the  sun  ia 
the  moon  ;  and,  back  again,  that  it  is  not  the  moon. 

Here  there  is  no  real  difficulty ;  for  the  arguments 
of  Herodotus  are  of  two  separate  classes,  and  both  too 
strong  to  leave  any  doubt  that  his  private  opinion  never 
varied  by  a  hair's  breadth  on  this  question.  And  it 
was  a  question  far  from  verbal,  of  which  any  man 
may  convince  himself  by  reflecting  on  the  disputes,  at 
different  periods,  with  regard  to  Macedou  (both  Mace- 
ionis  the  original  germ,  and  Macedonia  the  exiianded 


416         ,  PHILOSOPHY    OF    HEK0D0TU6. 

kingdom)  as  a  claimant  of  co -membership  in  the  house- 
hold of  Greece  ;  or  on  the  disputes,  more  angry  if  less 
Bcornful,  between  Carthage  and  Cyrene  as  to  the  true 
limits  between  the  daughter  of  Tyre  and  the  daughtei 
of  Greece.  The  very  color  of  the  soil  in  Egypt  — 
the  rich  black  loam,  precipitated  by  the  creative  rivei 
—  already  symbolized  to  Herodotus  the  deep  repiilsion 
lying  between  Egypt  on  the  one  side,  and  Libya,  where 
all  was  red  ;  between  Egypt  on  the  one  side,  and  Asia, 
wliere  all  was  calcined  into  white  sand.  And,  as  to 
the  name,  does  not  the  reader  catch  us  still  using  the 
word  '  Africa  '  instead  of  Libya,  after  all  our  sparring 
against  that  word  as  scarcely  known  by  possibility  to 
Herodotus  ? 

But,  beyond  this  controversy  as  to  the  true  marches 
or  frontier  lines  of  the  two  great  continents  in  com- 
mon —  Asia  and  Africa  —  there  was  another  and  a 
more  grave  one  as  to  the  size,  shape  and  limitations 
of  Africa  in  particular.  It  is  true  that  both  Europe 
and  Asia  were  imperfectly  defined  for  Herodotus. 
But  he  fancied  otherwise ;  for  them  he  could  trace  a 
vague,  rambling  outline.  Not  so  for  Africa,  unless  a 
great  event  in  Egyptian  records  were  adopted  for 
true.  This  was  the  voyage  of  circumnavigation  ac- 
complished under  the  orders  of  Pharaoh  Necho.  Dis- 
allomng  this  earliest  recorded  Periplus,  then  no  man 
I  ould  say  of  Africa  whether  it  were  a  large  island  or 
i.  boundless  continent  having  no  outline  traceable  by 
man,  or  (which,  doubtless,  would  have  been  the 
favorite  creed)  whether  it  were  not  a  technical  akte 
»uch  as  Asia  Minor  ;  that  is,  not  a  peninsula  like  the 
Peloponnesus,  or  the  tongues  of  land  near  Mouni 
Athos  —  because   in   that   case    tJie   idea    required 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    HERODOXUS.  417 

narrow  neck  or  isthmus  at  the  point  of  junction  with 
the  adjacent  continent  —  but  a  square,  tabular  plate 
of  ground,  '  a  block  of  ground  '  (as  the  Americans 
gay)  having  three  sides  washed  by  some  sea,  but  a 
fourth  side  absolutely  untouched  by  any  sea  whitever. 
On  this  word  akte,  as  a  term  but  recently  drawn  out 
of  obscurity,  we  shall  say  a  word  or  two  further  on ; 
at  present  we  proceed  with  the  great  African  Periplus. 
We,  like  the  rest  of  this  world,  held  this  to  be  a  pure 
fable,  so  long  as  we  had  never  anxiously  studied  the 
ancient  geography,  and  consequently  had  never  medi- 
tated on  the  circumstances  of  this  story  under  the 
light  of  that  geography,  or  of  the  current  astronomy. 
But  we  have  since  greatly  changed  our  opinion.  And, 
though  it  would  not  have  shaken  that  opinion  to  find 
Rennell  dissenting,  undoubtedly  it  much  strengthened 
our  opinion  to  find  so  cautious  a  judge  concurring. 
Perhaps  the  very  strongest  argument  in  favor  of  the 
voyage,  if  we  speak  of  any  single  argument,  is  that 
which  Rennell  insists  on  —  namely,  the  sole  circum- 
stance reported  by  the  voyagers  which  Herodotus 
pronounced  incredible,  the  assertion  that  in  one  part 
of  it  they  had  the  sun  on  the  right  hand.  And  as  we 
have  always  found  young  students  at  a  loss  for  the 
meaning  of  that  expression,  since  naturally  it  struck 
them  that  a  man  might  bring  the  sun  at  any  place 
on  either  hand,  or  on  neither,  we  will  stop  for  one 
moment  to  explain,  for  the  use  of  such  readers  and 
\adies,  that,  as  in  military  descriptions,  you  are  always 
presumed  to  look  down  the  current  of  a  river,  so  that 
the  '  right '  bank  of  the  Rhine,  for  instance,  is  alwayt 
o  a  soldier  the  German  bank,  the  '  left '  always  the 
V'rench  bank,  in  contempt  of  the  traveller's  position  f 


118  PHILOSOPHY    OF    HEEODOTTTS. 

BO,  in  speaking  of  the  sun,  you  are  presumed  tc  place 
your  back  to  the  east,  and  to  accompany  him  on  his 
daily  route.  In  that  position,  it  will  be  impossible  for 
a  man  in  oui  latitudes  to  bring  the  sun  on  his  right 
shoulder,  since  the  sun  never  even  rises  to  be  verti- 
cally over  his  head.  First,  when  he  goes  south  so  far 
as  to  enter  the  northern  tropic,  would  such  a  phe- 
nomenon be  possible  ?  and  if  he  persisted  in  going 
beyond  the  equator  and  southern  tropic,  then  he  would 
find  all  things  inverted  as  regards  our  hemisphere. 
Then  he  would  find  it  as  impossible,  when  moving 
concurrently  with  the  sun,  not  to  have  the  sun  on 
tiis  right  hand,  as  with  us  to  realize  that  phenomenon. 
Now,  it  is  very  clear,  that  if  the  Egyptian  voyagers 
did  actually  double  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope  so  far  to 
the  south  of  the  equator,  then,  by  mer?  necessity,  this 
inexplicable  phenomenon  (for  to  them  it  was  inexpli- 
cable) would  pursue  them  for  months  in  succession. 
Here  is  the  point  in  this  argument  which  we  would 
press  on  the  reader's  consideration ;  and,  inadver- 
tently, Rennell  has  omitted  this  aspect  of  the  argu- 
ment altogether.  To  Herodotus,  as  we  have  seen,  it 
was  so  absolutely  incredible  a  romance,  that  he  re- 
jected it  summarily.  And  why  not,  therefore,  '  go  the 
whole  hog,'  and  reject  the  total  voyage,  when  thus  in 
his  vie  w  partially  discredited  ?  That  question  recalls 
ta  to  the  certainty  that  there  must  have  been  other 
proofs,  independent  of  this  striking  allegation,  too 
strong  io  #ilow  of  scepticism  in  this  wise  man's  mind. 
He  fancied  (and  with  his  theory  of  the  heavens,  in 
which  there  was  no  equator,  no  central  limit,  no  prov- 
lice  of  equal  tropics  on  either  hand  of  that  limits 
?onld  he  have  done  otherwise  than  fancy  r'^  that  Jack, 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    HERODOTUS.  419 

tftCT  his  long  voyage,  having  then  no  tobacco  for  Ija 
recreation,  and  no  grog,  took  out  his  allowance  in  the 
shape  of  wonder-making.  He  '  bounced '  a  little,  he 
'  Cretized ; '  and  who  could  be  angry  ?  And  laugha- 
ble it  is  to  reflect,  that,  like  the  poor  credulous  mother, 
who  listened  complacently  to  her  sea-fearing  son  whilst 
using  a  Sinbad's  license  of  romancing,  but  gravely 
reproved  him  for  the  sin  of  untruth  when  he  told  her 
of  flying  fish,  or  some  other  simple  zoological  fact  — 
BO  Herodotus  would  have  made  careful  memoranda 
of  this  Egyptian  voyage  had  it  told  of  men  '  whose 
heads  do  grow  beneath  their  shoulders,'  (since,  if  he 
himself  doubted  about  the  one-eyed  Arimaspians,  he 
yet  thought  the  legend  entitled  to  a  report,)  but  scouted 
with  all  his  energy  the  one  great  truth  of  the  Periplus, 
and  eternal  monument  of  its  reality,  as  a  fable  too 
monstrous  for  toleration.  On  the  other  hand,  for  us, 
who  know  its  truth,  and  how  inevadibly  it  must  have 
haunted  for  months  the  Egyptians  in  the  face  of  all 
their  previous  impressions,  it  ought  to  stand  for  an 
argument,  strong  '  as  proofs  of  holy  writ,'  that  the 
voj'age  did  really  take  place.  There  is  exactly  one 
possibility,  but  a  very  slight  one,  that  this  truth  might 
have  been  otherwise  learned  —  learned  independently; 
and  that  is,  from  the  chance  that  those  same  Africans 
of  the  interior  who  had  truly  reported  the  Niger  to 
Herodotus,  (though  erroaecusly  as  a  section  of  the 
Vile,)  might  simultaneously  have  reported  the  phenom- 
i-?a  of  the  sun's  course.  Lut  we  reply  to  that  possible 
H'lggestion  —  that  in  fact  it  con  d  scarcely  have  hap- 
oened.  Many  other  remarkable  phenomena  of  Nigri- 
tia  had  not  been  reported  :  or  had  been  dropped  out  of 
'he  record  at  idle  or  worthless.     Secondly,  as  slaves 


420  PHILOSOniY    OF    HEEODOTITS. 

they  would  have  obtained  little  credit,  excepf  whea 
falling  in  loith  a  previoi^  idea  or  belief.  Thirdly, 
acne  of  these  men  would  be  derived  from  any  place 
to  the  south  of  the  line,  still  less  south  of  the  southern 
tropic.  Generally  they  would  belong  to  the  northern 
tropic  :  and  (that  being  premised)  what  would  have 
been  the  true  form  of  the  report  ?  Not  that  they  had 
the  sun  on  the  right  hand ;  but  that  sometimes  he  waa 
directly  vertical,  sometimes  on  the  left  hand,  some- 
times on  the  right,  '  What,  ye  black  villains  !  The 
Bun,  that  never  was  known  to  change,  unless  when  he 
reeled  a  little  at  seeing  the  anthropophagous  banquet 
of  Thyestes,  —  he  to  dance  cotillions  in  this  absurd 
way  up  and  down  the  heavens,  —  why,  hamstringing 
is  too  light  a  punishment  for  such  insults  to  Apollo,'  — 
so  would  a  Greek  have  spoken.  And,  at  least,  if  the 
report  had  survived  at  all,  it  would  have  been  in  this 
shape  —  as  the  report  of  an  uncertain  movement  in 
the  African  sun. 

But  as  a  regular  nautical  report  made  to  the  Pharaoh 
of  the  day,  as  an  extract  from  the  log-book,  for  thin 
reason  it  must  be  received  as  unanswerable  evidence, 
as  an  argument  that  never  can  be  surmounted  on  be- 
half of  the  voyage,  that  it  contradicted  all  theories 
whatsoever  —  Greek  no  less  than  Egyptian  —  and  was 
irreconcilable  with  all  systems  that  the  wit  of  men  had 
yet  devised  [viz.,  two  centuries  before  Herodotus]  for 
explaining  the  solar  motions.  Upon  this  logic  we  will 
take  our  stand.  Here  is  the  strong-hold,  the  citadel,  of 
the  truth.  Many  a  thing  has  been  fabled,  many  a  ^-hing 
carefully  passed  do\vn  by  tradition  as  a  fact  of  abso- 
Hite  experience,  simply  because  it  fell  in  with  some 
Die^ious  fancy  or  prejudice  c  f  men.     And  even  Baron 


PHII.OSOFHY    OF    HEK0D0TTT8.  421 

Munchausen's  amusing  falsehoods,  if  examined  by  a 
logician,  will  uniformly  be  found  squared  or  adjusted; 
not  indeed  to  a  belief,  but  to  a  whimsical  sort  of  plausi- 
bility, that  reconciles  the  mind  to  the  extravagance  for 
the  single  instant  that  is  required.  If  he  drives  up  a 
hill  of  snow,  and  next  morning  finds  his  horse  and  gig 
hanging  from  the  top  of  a  church  steeple,  the  mon- 
strous fiction  is  still  countenanced  by  the  sudden  thaw 
that  had  taken  place  in  the  night-time,  and  so  far 
physically  possible  as  to  be  removed  beyond  the  limits 
of  magic.  And  the  very  disgust,  which  revolts  us  in 
a  supplement  to  the  baron,  that  we  remember  to  have 
seen,  arises  from  the  neglect  of  those  smooth  plausi- 
bilities. We  are  there  summoned  to  believe  blank 
impossibilities,  Avithout  a  particle  of  the  baron's  most 
ingenious  and  winning  speciousness  of  preparation. 
The  baron  candidly  admits  the  impossibility  ;  faces  it ; 
regrets  it  for  the  sake  of  truth  :  but  a  fact  is  a  fact ; 
and  he  puts  it  to  our  equity  —  whether  we  also  have  not 
met  with  strange  events.  And  never  in  a  single  instance 
does  the  baron  build  upwards,  without  a  massy  founda- 
tion of  specious  physical  possibility.  Whereas  ^he  fic- 
tion, if  it  had  been  a  fiction,  recorded  by  Herodi  tus, 
is  precisely  of  that  order  which  must  have  roused  the 
'  incredulus  odi  '  in  the  fulness  of  perfection.  Neither 
in  the  wisdom  of  man,  nor  in  his  follies,  was  there  one 
resource  for  mitigating  the  disgust  whi  'h  Avould  have 
pursued  it.  This  powerful  reason  for  believing  the 
wain  fact  of  the  circumnavigation  —  let  the  reader, 
courteous  or  not,  if  he  is  but  the  logical  reader,  conde« 
Bcend  to  balance  in  his  judgment. 

Other  arguments,  only  less  strong  on  behalf  of  the 
^o^Tige,    we  will  not  here   notice  —  except   this  one, 


♦22  PHILOSOPHY    OF    HERODOTUS. 

most  reasonably  urged  by  Rennell,  from  his  peculiw 
familiarity,  even  in  that  day,  (1799,)  with  the  current! 
»nd  the  prevalent  winds  of  the  Indian  Ocean ;  viz., 
that  such  a  circumnavigation  of  Africa  was  almost 
sure  to  prosper  if  commenced  from  the  Red  Sea,  (as 
it  was,)  and  even  more  sure  to  fail  if  taken  in  the 
inverse  order ;  that  is  to  say,  through  the  Straits  of 
Gibraltar,  and  so  down  the  \Testern  shore  of  Africa  in 
the  first  place.  Under  that  order,  which  was  peculiarly 
tempting  for  two  reasons  to  the  Carthaginian  sailor  or 
a  Phoenician,  Rennell  has  shown  how  all  the  cXirrents, 
the  monsoons,  &c.,  would  baffle  the  navigator ;  whilst, 
taken  in  the  opposite  series,  they  might  easily  co- 
operate with  the  bold  enterpriser,  so  as  to  waft  him,  if 
once  starting  at  a  proper  season,  almost  to  the  Cape, 
before  (to  use  Sir  Bingo  Binks'  phrase)  he  could  say 
dumpling.  Accordingly,  a  Persian  nobleman  of  high 
rank,  having  been  allowed  to  commute  his  sentence 
of  capital  punishment  for  that  of  sailing  round  Africa, 
did  actually  fail  from  the  cause  developed  by  Rennell. 
Naturally  he  had  a  Phoenician  crew,  as  the  king's  best 
nautical  subjects.  Naturally  they  preferred  the  false 
route.  Naturally  they  failed.  And  the  nobleman, 
returning  from  transportation  before  his  time,  as  well 
as  re  infectd,  was  executed. 

But  (ah,  villanous  word  !)  some  ugly  objector  puts 
in  his  oar,  and  demands  to  know  —  why,  if  so  vast  an 
evf'nt  had  actually  occurred,  it  could  have  ever  been 
forgotten,  or  at  all  have  faded  ?  To  this  we  answer 
';riefly,  what  properly  ought  to  form  a  separate  section 
in  our  notice  of  Herodotus.  The  event  was  not  »q 
vast  as  we,  with  our  present  knowledge  of  Africi^ 
•hould  regard  it. 


PHILOSOPHY    OV    HEHODOXUS.  423 

This  is  a  very  interesting  aspect  of  the  subject.  We 
*ugh  long  and  loud  when  we  hear  Des  Cartes  (great 
man  as  he  was)  laying  it  down  amongst  the  golden 
lules  for  guiding  his  studies,  that  he  would  guard  him- 
lelf  against  all  '  prejudices  ; '  because  we  know  that 
when  a  prejudice  of  any  class  whatever  is  seen  as  such, 
when  it  is  recognized  for  a  prejudice,  from  that  moment 
it  ceases  to  be  a  prejudice.  Those  are  the  true  baffling 
prejudices  for  man, •which  he  never  suspects  for  preju- 
dices. How  widely,  from  the  truisms  of  experience, 
could  we  illustrate  this  truth  !  But  we  abstain.  We 
content  ourselves  with  this  case.  Even  Major  Rennell, 
starting  semi-consciously  from  his  own  previous  know- 
ledge, (the  fruit  of  researches  a  thousand  years  later 
than  Herodotus,)  lays  down  an  Africa  at  least  ten 
times  too  great  for  meeting  the  Greek  idea.  Unavoid- 
ably Herodotus  knew  the  Mediterranean  dimensions  of 
Africa  ;  else  he  would  have  figured  it  to  himself  as  an 
island,  equal  perhaps  to  Greece,  Macedon  and  Thrace. 
As  it  was,  there  is  no  doubt  to  us,  from  many  indica- 
tions, that  the  Libya  of  Herodotus,  after  all,  did  not 
exceed  the  total  bulk  of  Asia  Minor  carried  eastwards 
to  the  Tigris.  But  there  is  not  such  an  awful  corrupter 
of  truth  in  the  whole  world  —  there  is  not  such  an 
unconquerable  enslaver  of  men's  minds  —  as  the  blind 
instinct  by  which  they  yield  to  the  ancient  root-bound, 
trebly-anchored  prejudications  of  their  childhood  and 
original  belief.  Misconceive  us  not,  reader.  We  do 
not  mean  that,  having  learned  such  and  such  doctrines, 
afterwards  they  cling  tc  them  by  affection.  Not  at  all. 
We  mean  that,  duped  by  a  word  and  the  associations 
clinging  to  it,  they  cleave  to  certain  notions,  not  from 
*r  y  partiality  to  them,  but  because  this  pre-occupation 


t24  PHILOSOPHY    OF    HEEODOIITS. 

intercepts  the  very  earliest  dawn  of  a  possible  coucep* 
tion  or  conjecture  in  the  opposite  direction.  The  moat 
tremendous  error  in  human  annals  is  of  that  order.  It 
has  existed  for  seventeen  centuries  in  strength  ;  and 
la  not  extinct,  though  public  in  its  action,  as  upon 
another  occasion  we  shall  show.  In  this  case  of  Africa, 
it  was  not  that  men  resisted  the  truth  according  to  the 
ordinary  notion  of  a  '  prejudice ; '  it  was  that  every 
commentator  in  succession  upon  Herodotus,  coming  to 
the  case  with  the  fullest  knowledge  that  Africa  was  a 
vast  continent,  ranging  far  and  wide  in  both  hemis- 
pheres, unconsciously  slipped  into  the  feeling,  that  this 
had  always  been  the  belief  of  men ;  possibly  some 
might  a  little  fall  short  of  the  true  estimate,  some  a 
little  exceed  it ;  but  that,  on  the  whole,  it  was  at  least 
as  truly  figured  to  men's  minds  as  either  of  the  two 
other  continents.  Accordingly,  one  and  all  have  pre- 
sumed a  bulk  for  the  Libya  of  Herodotus  absolutely 
at  war  with  the  whole  indications.  And  if  they  had 
once  again  read  Herodotus  under  the  guiding  light 
furnished  by  a  blank  denial  of  this  notion,  they  would 
have  found  a  meaning  in  many  a  word  of  Herodotus, 
such  as  they  never  suspected  whilst  trying  it  only 
&om  one  side.  In  this  blind  submission  to  a  preju- 
dice of  words  and  clustering  associations,  Rennell  also 
'hares. 

It  will  be  retorted,  however,  that  the  long  time 
idlowed  by  Herodotus  for  the  voyage  argues  a  corres- 
ponding amplitude  of  dimensions.  Doubtless  a  time 
upwards  of  two  years,  is  long  for  a  modern  Periplus, 
even  of  that  vast  continent.  But  Herodotus  knew 
nothing  of  monsoons,  or  trade-winds  or  currents  :  h« 
allowed   nothing  for  these  accelerating  forces,  whicl: 


FHILOSOPHT    OF    HEKODOTITS.  425 

were  enormous,  though  allowing  fully  [could  any 
Greek  have  neglected  to  allow  ?]  for  all  the  retarding 
forces.  Daily  advances  of  thirty-three  miles  at  most ; 
nightly  reposes,  of  necessity  to  men  without  the  com- 
pass ;  ahove  all,  a  coasting  navigation,  searching  (if  it 
were  only  for  water)  every  nook  and  inlet,  bay,  and 
river's  mouth,  except  only  where  the  winds  or  currents 
might  ^dolently  sweep  them  past  these  objects.  Then 
we  are  to  allow  for  a  long  stay  on  the  shore  of  Western 
Africa,  for  the  sake  of  reaping,  or  having  reaped  by 
natives,  a  wheat  harvest  —  a  fact  which  strengthens 
the  probability  of  the  voyage,  but  diminishes  the  dis- 
posable time  which  Herodotus  would  use  as  the  expo- 
nent of  the  space.  We  must  remember  the  want  of 
tails  aloft  in  ancient  vessels,  the  awkwardness  of  their 
build  for  fast  sailing,  and,  above  all,  their  cautious 
policy  of  never  tempting  the  deep,  unless  when  the 
wind  would  not  be  denied.  And,  in  the  meantime, 
all  the  compensatory  forces  of  air  and  water,  as  utterly 
unsuspected  by  Herodotus,  we  must  subtract  from  his 
final  summation  of  the  effective  motion,  leaving  for  the 
actual  measure  of  the  sailing,  as  inferred  by  Herodotus 
—  consequently  for  the  measure  of  the  virtual  time, 
consequently  of  the  African  space,  as  only  to  be  col- 
lected from  the  time  so  collected  —  a  very  small  pro- 
portion indeed,  compared  with  the  results  of  a  similar 
voyage,  even  by  the  Portuguese,  about  A.  D.  1500. 
To  Herodotus  we  are  satisfied  that  Libya  (disarming 
•t  of  its  power  over  the  world's  mind,  in  the  pompous 
.lame  of  Africa)  was  not  biggei  than  the  true  Arabi* 
ta  known  to  ourselves. 

And  hence,  also,  by  a  natural  result,  the  obliteration 
»f  this  Peripltis  from  the  minds  of  men.     It  accom- 


i26  PHILOSOPHY    OF    HEUODOTUB. 

nlished  no  great  service,  as  men  judged.  It  put  a  zone 
about  a  large  region,  undoubtedly  ;  but  what  sort  of  a 
region  ?  A  mere  worthless  wilderness,  now  6>iQiw9t]( 
dedicated  by  the  gods  to  wild  beasts,  now  anfidjdtjt 
trackless  from  sands,  and  everywhere  fountainless, 
arid,  scorched  (as  they  believed)  in  the  interior.  Sub- 
tract Egypt,  as  not  being  part,  and  to  the  world  of 
civilization  at  that  time  Africa  must  have  seemed  a 
worthless  desert,  except  for  Cyrene  and  Carthage,  its 
two  choice  gardens,  already  occupied  by  Phoenicians 
and  Greeks.  This,  by  the  way,  suggests  a  new  con- 
sideration, viz.  that  even  the  Mediterranean  extent  of 
Africa  must  have  been  unknown  to  Herodotus  —  since 
all  beyond  Carthage,  as  Mauritania,  &c.,  would  wind 
up  into  a  small  inconsiderable  tract,  as  being  dispuncted 
by  no  great  states  or  colonies. 

Therefore  it  was  that  this  most  interesting  of  all 
circumnavigations  at  the  present  day  did  virtually  and 
could  not  but  perish  as  a  vivid  record.  It  measured  a 
region  which  touched  no  man's  prosperity.  It  recorded 
a  discovery,  for  which  there  was  no  permanent  appre- 
ciator.  A  case  exists  at  this  moment,  in  London,  pre- 
cisely parallel.  There  is  a  chart  of  New  Holland  still 
preserved  among  the  xtiutjlia  of  the  British  Museum, 
which  exhibits  a  Periplus  of  that  vast  region,  from 
some  navigator,  almost  by  three  centuries  prior  to 
Captain  Cook.  A  rude  outline  of  Cook's  labors  in 
that  section  had  been  anticipated  at  a  time  when  it  was 
aot  wanted.  Nobody  cared  about  it :  value  it  had  none 
or  interest ;  and  it  was  utterly  forgotten.  That  it  die 
not  also  perish  in  the  literal  sense,  as  well  as  in  spirit 
was  owing  to  an  accident. 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    HEE0D0TTT8.  427 

rV.  —  The  Geographical  Akt£  of  Greece. 

"We  had  intended  to  transfer,  for  the  use  of  our 
l-eaders,  the  diagram  imagined  by  Niebuhr  in  illus- 
tration of  this  idea.  But  o\ir  growing  exorbitance 
from  our  limits  warns  us  to  desist.  Two  points  only 
we  shall  notice  :  —  1 .  That  Niebuhr  —  not  the  travel- 
ler, as  might  have  been  expected,  but  his  son,  the  phi- 
losophic historian — first  threw  light  on  this  idea,  which 
had  puzzled  multitudes  of  honest  men.  Here  we  see 
the  same  similarity  as  in  the  case  of  Rennell ;  in  that 
instance,  a  man  without  a  particle  of  Greek,  '  whip- 
ped '  (to  speak  Kentuckice)  whole  crowds  of  sleeping 
drones  who  had  more  than  they  could  turn  to  any 
good  account.  And  in  the  other  instance,  we  see  a 
sedentary  scholar,  travelling  chiefly  between  his  study 
and  his  bedroom,  doing  the  work  that  properly  belong- 
ed to  active  travellers.  2.  Though  we  have  already 
given  one  illustration  of  an  Atke  in  Asia  Minor,  it  may 
be  well  to  mention  as  another,  the  vast  region  of  Ara- 
bia. In  fact,  to  Herodotus  the  tract  of  Arabia  and 
Syria  on  the  one  hand,  made  up  one  akte  (the  south- 
ern) for  the  Persian  empire  ;  Asia  Minor,  with  part  of 
Armenia,  made  up  another  akte  (the  western)  for  the 
same  empire  ;  the  two  being  at  right  angles,  and  both 
■])ntting  on  imaginary  lines  drawn  from  different  points 
of  the  Euphrates. 

V.  —  Chronology  of  Herodotus 

ITie   commentator  of   Herodotus,   who   enjoys    the 

rCjfUtation  of  having  best  unfolded  his  chronology,  ia 

Ihe  French   President   Buhier.     We   cannot  say  that 

this  opinion  coincides  with  our  own.     There  is  a  la- 


128  PHILOSOPHY    OF    HERODOTUS. 

mentable  imbecility  in  all  the  chronological  commenta- 
tors, of  two  opposite  tendendes.  Either  they  fall  into 
that  folly  of  drivelling  infidelity,  which  shivers  at  everj 
fresh  revelation  of  geology,  and  every  fresh  romance 
of  fabulous  chronology,  as  fatal  to  religious  truths  ;  or, 
with  wiser  feelings  but  equal  sUliness,  they  seek  to 
protect  Christianity  by  feeble  parryings,  from  a  danger 
which  exists  only  for  those  who  never  had  any  rational 
principles  of  faith  ;  as  if  the  mighty  spiritual  power 
of  Christianity  were  to  be  thrown  upon  her  defence, 
as  often  as  any  old  woman's  legend  from  Hindostan, 
(see  Bailly's  Astronomic,)  or  from  Egypt,  (see  the 
whole  series  of  chronological  commentators  on  Herod- 
otus,) became  immeasurably  extravagant,  and  exactly 
in  proportion  to  that  extravagance.  Amongst  these 
latter  chronologers,  perhaps  Larcher  is  the  most  false 
and  treacherous.  He  affects  a  tragical  start  as  often 
as  he  rehearses  the  traditions  of  the  Egyptian  priests, 
and  assumes  a  holy  shuddering.  '  Eh  quoi !  Ce  seroit 
done  ces  gens-1^,  qui  auroient  ose  insulter  a  notre 
sainte  religion  ! '  But,  all  the  while,  beneath  his  mask 
the  reader  can  perceive,  not  obscurely,  a  perfidious 
smile  ;  as  on  the  face  of  some  indulgent  mother,  who 
aflfects  to  menace  with  her  hand  some  favorite  child  at 
a  distance,  whilst  the  present  subject  of  a  stranger's 
complaint,  but,  in  fact,  ill  disguises  her  foolish  applause 
to  its  petulance. 

Two  remarks  only  we  shall  allow  ourselves  upon  this 
extensive  theme,  which,  if  once  entered  in  good  earnest, 
would  go  on  to  a  length  more  than  commensurate  with 
ill  the  rest  of  our  discussion. 

1.  The  three  hundred  and  thirty  kings  of  Egypt 
vho  were  interposed  by  the  Egyptian  priests,  betweej 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    HERODOTUS  429 

the  endless  dynasty  of  tte  gods,  and  the  pretty  long 
iynasty  of  real  kings,  (the  Shepherds,  the  Pharaohs, 
fee.)  are  upon  this  argument  to  be  objected  us  mere 
unmeaning  fictions,  \'iz.  that  they  did  nothing.  This 
argument  is  reported  as  a  fact,  {iiot  as  an  argument  of 
rejection,)  by  Herodotus  himself,  and  reported  from 
the  volunteer  testimony  of  the  priests  themselves  ;  so 
that  the  authority  for  the  number  of  kings,  is  also  their 
inertia.  Can  there  be  better  proof  needed,  than  that 
they  were  men  of  straw,  got  up  to  color  the  legend  of 
a  prodigious  antiquity  ?  The  reign  of  the  gods  was 
felt  to  be  somewhat  equivocal,  as  susceptible  of 
allegoric  explanations.  So  this  long  human  dynasty 
is  invented  to  furnish  a  substantial  basis  for  the 
extravagant  genealogy.  Meantime,  the  whole  three 
hundred  and  thirty  are  such  absolute  faineans,  that, 
confessedly,  not  one  act  —  not  one  monument  of  art 
or  labor  —  is  ascribed  to  their  auspices  ;  whilst  every 
one  of  the  real  unquestionable  sovereigns,  coinciding 
with  known  periods  in  the  tradition  of  Greece,  or 
with  undeniable  events  in  the  divine  simplicity  of  the 
Hebrew  Scriptures,  is  memorable  for  some  warlike  act, 
some  munificent  institution,  or  some  almost  imperish- 
■ble  monument  of  architectural  power. 

2.  But  weaker  even  than  the  fabling  spirit  of  these 
genealogical  inanities,  is  the  idle  attempt  to  explode 
hem,  by  turning  the  years  into  days.  In  this  way,  it 
13  true,  we  get  rid  of  pretensions  to  a  cloudy  antiquity, 
by  wholesale  clusters.  The  moonshine  and  the  fairy 
tales  vanish  —  but  how  ?  To  leave  us  all  in  a  moon- 
less quagmire  of  substantial  difficulties,  from  which 
(as  has  been  suggested  more  than  once)  there  is  no 
extrication  at  all  ;  for  if  the  diurnal  years  are  to  rec* 


430  PHILOSOPHY   OF   HERODOTUS. 

oncile  us  to  the  three  hundred  and  thirty  kings,  what 
becomes  of  the  incomprehensibly  short  reigns,  (not 
averaging  above  two  or  three  months  for  each,)  on  the 
long  basis  of  time  assumed  by  the  priests  ;  and  this  in 
the  most  peaceful  of  realms,  and  in  fatal  contradiction 
to  another  estimate  of  the  priests,  by  which  the  kinga 
are  made  to  tally  with  as  many  yeVeai,  or  generations  of 
men  ?  Herodotus,  and  doubtless  the  priests,  under- 
stood a  generation  in  the  sense  then  universally  cur- 
rent, agreeably  to  which,  three  generations  were  valued 
to  a  century. 

But  the  questions  are  endless  which  grow  out  of 
Herodotus.  Pliny's  Natural  History  has  been  usually 
thought  the  greatest  treasure-house  of  ancient  learning. 
But  we  hold  that  Herodotus  furnishes  by  much  the 
largest  basis  for  vast  commentaries  revealing  the  ar- 
chaeologies of  the  human  race  :  whilst,  as  the  eldest  of 
prose  writers,  he  justifies  his  majestic  station  as  a 
brotherly  assessor  on  the  same  throne  with  Homer. 


PLATO'S   REPUBLIC. 

Theee  is  no  reader  who  has  not  heard  of  Solon's 
apologetic  distinction  between  the  actual  system  of 
laws,  framed  by  himself  for  the  Athenian  people, 
under  his  personal  knowledge  of  the  Athenian  temper, 
and  that  better  system  which  he  would  have  framed 
in  a  case  where  either  the  docility  of  the  national 
character  had  been  greater,  or  the  temptations  to 
insubordination  had  been  less.  Something  of  the 
same  distinction  must  be  taken  on  behalf  of  Plato, 
between  the  ideal  form  of  Civil  Polity  which  he  con- 
templated in  the  ten  books  of  his  Republic,  and  the 
practical  form  which  he  contemplated  in  the  thirteen 
books  of  his  Legislative  System.*  In  the  former 
work  he  supposes  himself  to  be  instituting  an  inde- 
pendent state,  on  such  principles  as  were  philosophi- 
cally best ;  in  the  latter,  upon  the  assumption  that 
what  might  be  the  best  as  an  abstraction,  was  not 
always   the    best  as    adapted    to   a  perverse    human 

*  Thirteen  books.  — There  are  twelve  books  of  the  Ijuwi  ;  but 
the  closing  book,  entitled  the  Epinomos,  or  Supplement  to  the 
Laws,  adds  a  thirteenth.  We  have  thought  it  convenient  to 
design-kte  the  entire  work  by  the  collective  name  of  the  Legit 
^ative  System 


432 


PLATO  8    REPUBLIC. 


nature,  nor  under  ordinary  circumstances  the  most 
likely  to  be  durable.  He  professes  to  make  a  com- 
promise between  his  sense  of  duty  as  a  philosopher, 
and  his  sense  of  expedience  as  a  man  of  the  world. 
Like  Solon,  he  quits  the  normal  for  the  attainable  ; 
and  from  the  ideal  man,  flexible  to  all  the  purposes  of 
a  haughty  philosophy,  he  descends  in  his  subsequent 
speculations  to  the  refractory  Athenian  as  he  reallj 
existed  in  the  generation  of  Pericles.  And  this  fact 
gives  a  great  value  to  the  more  abstract  work;  since 
no  inferences  against  Greek  sentiment  or  Greek  prin- 
ciples could  have  been  drawn  from  a  work  applying 
itself  to  Grecian  habits  as  he  found  them,  which  it 
would  not  be  easy  to  evade.  '  This,'  it  would  have 
been  said,  '  is  not  what  Plato  approved  —  but  what 
Plato  conceived  to  be  the  best  compromise  with  the 
difficulties  of  the  case  under  the  given  civilization.' 
Now,  on  the  contrary,  we  have  Plato's  view  of  abso- 
lute optimism,  the  true  maximum  perfeclionis  for 
social  man,  in  a  condition  openly  assumed  to  be 
modelled  after  a  philosopher's  ideal.  There  is  no 
work,  therefore,  from  which  profounder  draughts  can 
be  derived  of  human  frailty  and  degradation,  under 
"ts  highest  intellectual  expansion,  previously  to  the 
rise  of  Christianity.  Just  one  century  dated  from 
the  birth  of  Plato,  which,  by  the  most  plausible 
chronology,  very  little  preceded  the  death  of  Pericles 
the  great  Macedonian  expedition  under  Alexander 
was  proceeding  against  Persia.  By  that  time  the 
bloom  of  Greek  civility  had  suffered.  That  war, 
taken  in  connection  with  the  bloody  feuds  that  sue* 
ceeded  it  amongst  the  great  captains  of  Alexander 
gave  a  shock  to   the   civilization  of  Greece  ;    so  that 


Plato's  republic.  433 

upon  the  N\hole,  until  the  dawn  of  the  (Christian  era, 
more  than  four  centuries  later,  it  would  not  be  pos- 
sible to  fix  on  any  epoch  more  illustrative  of  Greek 
Intellect,  or  Greek  refinement,  than  precisely  that 
youth  of  Plato,  which  united  itself  by  immediate 
consecutive  succession  to  the  most  brilliant  section 
in  the  administration  of  Pericles.  It  was,  in  fact, 
throughout  the  course  of  the  Peloponnesian  war  — 
the  one  sole  war  that  divided  the  whole  household  of 
Greece  against  itself,  giving  motive  to  efibrts,  and 
dignity  to  personal  competitions  —  contemporary  with 
Xenophon  and  the  younger  Cyrus,  during  the  man- 
hood of  Alcibiades,  and  the  declining  years  of  So- 
crates —  amongst  such  coevals  and  such  circumstances 
of  war  and  revolutionary  truce  —  that  Plato  passed 
his  fervent  youth.  The  bright  sunset  of  Pericles  stUl 
burned  in  the  Athenian  heavens ;  the  gorgeous  trag- 
edy and  the  luxuriant  comedy,  so  recently  created, 
were  now  in  full  possession  of  the  Athenian  stage  ; 
the  city  was  yet  fresh  from  the  hands  of  its  creators 
—  Pericles  and  Phidias  ;  the  fine  arts  were  towering 
into  their  meridian  altitude  ;  and  about  the  period 
when  Plato  might  be  considered  an  adult  sui  juris, 
that  is,  just  four  hundred  and  ten  years  before  the 
<)irth  of  Christ,  the  Grecian  intellect  might  be  said  to 
culminate  in  Athens.  Any  more  favorable  era  for 
estimating  the  Greek  character,  cannot,  we  presume, 
be  suggested.  For,  although  personally  there  might 
be  a  brighter  constellation  gathered  about  Pericles,  at 
a  date  twenty-five  years  antecedent  to  this  era  of 
Plato's  maturity,  stiL,  as  regarded  the  results  upon 
the  collective  populace  of  Athens,  that  must  have 
uecome  most  conspiruous  and  palpable  in  tho  gene- 
28 


134  PLATO'S    EEPUBLIC. 

ration  immediately  succeeding.  The  thoughtfulnesi 
impressed  by  the  new  theatre,  the  patriotic  fervor 
generated  by  the  administration  of  Pericles,  must 
have  revealed  themselves  most  effectually  after  both 
causes  had  been  operating  through  one  entire  geneia- 
tion.  And  Plato,  who  might  have  been  kissed  as  an 
infant  by  Pericles,  but  never  could  have  looked  at 
hat  great  man  with  an  eye  of  intelligent  admiration 

—  to  whose  ear  the  name  of  Pericles  must  have 
sounded  with  the  same  effect  as  that  of  Pitt  to  the 
young  men  of  our  British  Reform  Bill  —  could  yet 
better  appreciate  the  elevation  which  he  had  impressed 
upon  the  Athenian  character,  than  those  who,  as  direct 
coevals  of  Pericles,  could  not  gain  a  sufficient  '  elonga- 
tion '  from  his  beams  to  appreciate  his  lustre.  Our 
inference  is  —  that  Plato,  more  even  than  Pericles, 
saw  the  consummation  of  the  Athenian  intellect,  and 
witnessed  more  than  Pericles  himself  the  civilization 
effected  by  Pericles. 

This  consideration  gives  a  value  to  every  sentiment 
expressed  by  Plato.  The  Greek  mind  was  then  more 
intensely  Greek  than  at  any  subsequent  period.  After 
the  period  of  Alexander,  it  fell  under  exotic  influences 

—  alien  and  Asiatic  in  some  cases,  regal  and  despotic 
in  others.  One  hundred  and  fifty  years  more  brought 
the  country  under  the  Roman  yoke ;  after  which  the 
true  Grecian  intellect  never  spoke  a  natural  or  genial 
language  again.  The  originality  of  the  Athenian 
mind  had  exhaled  under  the  sense  of  constraint.  But 
as  yet,  and  throughout  the  life  of  Plato,  Greece  wap 
essentially  Grecian,  and  Athens  radically  Athenian. 

With  respect  to  those  particular  works  of  Plata 
which  qpncern  the  constitution  of  governments,  thete 


Plato's  republic.  435 

e  this  special  reason  for  building  upon  thtm  any 
inferences  as  to  the  culture  of  Athenian  society  — 
that  probably  these  are  the  most  direct  emanations 
from  the  Platonic  intellect,  the  most  purely  represen- 
tative of  Plato  individually,  and  the  most  prolonged 
or  sustained  eflfort  of  his  peculiar  mind.  It  is  cus- 
comary  to  talk  of  a  Platonic  philosophy  as  a  coherent 
whole,  that  may  be  gathered  by  concentration  from 
his  disjointed  dialogues.  Our  belief  is,  that  no  such 
systematic  whole  exists.  Fragmentary  notices  are  all 
that  remain  in  his  works.  The  four  minds,  from 
\fhom  we  ha\  e  received  the  nearest  approximation  to 
nn  orbicular  system,  or  total  body  of  philosophy,  are 
those  of  Aristotle,  of  Des  Cartes,  of  Leibnitz,  and 
lastly,  of  Immanuel  Kant.  All  these  men  have  mani- 
fested an  ambition  to  complete  the  cycle  of  their 
philosophic  speculations  ;  but,  for  all  that,  not  one  of 
them  has  come  near  to  his  object.  How  much  less 
can  any  such  cycle  or  systematic  whole  be  ascribed 
to  Plato  !  His  dialogues  are  a  succession  of  insulated 
essays,  upon  problems  just  then  engaging  the  atten- 
tion of  thoughtful  men  in  Greece.  But  we  know  not 
how  much  of  these  speculations  may  really  belong  to 
Socrates,  into  whose  mouth  so  large  a  proportion  is 
ihrown ;  nor  have  we  any  means  of  discriminating 
between  such  doctrines  as  were  put  forward  occa- 
sionally by  way  of  tentative  explorations,  or  trials  of 
dialetic  address,  and  on  the  other  hand,  such  as  Plato 
adopted  in  sincerity  of  heart,  whether  originated  by 
nis  master  or  by  himself.  There  is,  besides,  a  very 
iwkward  argument  for  suspending  our  faith  in  any 
me  doctrine  as  rigorously  Platonic.  We  are  assured 
veforehand,  that  the  intolerance  of  the  Athenian  peo- 


436  PLAIO'S    REPUBLIC. 

pie  in  the  affair  of  Socrates,  must  have  damped  the 
speculating  spirit  in  all  philosophers  who  were  not 
prepared  to  fly  from  Athens.  It  is  no  time  to  he 
prating  as  a  philosophical  free-thinker,  when  bigotry 
takes  the  shape  of  judicial  persecution.  That  one 
cup  of  poison  administered  to  Socrates,  must  have 
stifled  the  bold  spirit  of  philosophy  for  a  century  to 
come.  This  is  a  reasonable  presumption.  But  the 
same  argument  takes  another  and  a  more  self-con- 
fessing form  in  another  feature  of  Plato's  writings  ; 
viz.,  in  his  aff"ectation  of  a  double  doctrine  —  esoteric, 
the  private  and  confidential  form  authorized  by  his 
final  ratification  —  and  exoteric,  which  was  but  another 
name  for  impostures  with  which  he  duped  those  who 
might  else  have  been  calumniators.  But  what  a  world 
of  falsehoods  is  wi-apped  up  in  this  pretence  !  Firsc 
of  all,  what  unreflecting  levity  to  talk  of  this  twofold 
doctrine  as  at  all  open  to  the  human  mind  on  ques- 
tions taken  generally  !  How  many  problems  of  a 
philosophic  nature  can  be  mentioned,  in  which  it 
would  be  at  all  possible  to  maintain  this  double  cur- 
rent, flowing  collaterally,  of  truth  absolute  and  truth 
plausible  ?  No  such  double  view  would  be  often 
available  under  any  possible  sacrifice  of  truth.  Sec- 
:)ndly,  if  it  were,  how  thoroughly  would  that  be  to 
adopt  and  renew  those  theatrical  pretences  of  the 
itinerant  Sophistce,  or  encyclopsedic  hawkers  of  know- 
ledge, whom  elsewhere  and  so  repeatedly,  Plato,  in 
the  assumed  person  of  Socrates,  had  contemptuously 
exposed.  Thirdly,  in  a  philosophy  by  no  means 
remarkable  for  its  opulence  in  ideas,  which  moves  at 
til  only  by  its  cumbrous  superfluity  of  words,  (partly 
In  disguise  of  which,  under  the  forms  of  conversatioiv 


PLATO  S    KEPUBLIC. 


437 


we  believe  the  mode  of  dialogue  to  have  been  first 
adopted,)  how  was  this  double  expenditure  to  be 
maintained  ?  What  tenfold  contempt  it  impresses 
upon  a  man's  poverty,  where  he  himself  forces  it 
into  public  exposure  by  insisting  on  keeping  up  a 
double  establishment  in  the  town  and  in  the  country, 
at  the  very  moment  that  his  utmost  means  are  below 
the  decent  maintenance  of  one  very  humble  house- 
li  Id  !  Or  let  the  reader  represent  to  himself  the 
miserable  charJatanerie  of  a  gasconading  secretary 
affecting  to  place  himself  upon  a  level  with  Caesar, 
by  dictating  to  three  amanuenses  at  once,  when  the 
blender  result  makes  it  painfully  evident,  that  to  have 
kept  one  moving  in  any  respectable  manner,  would 
have  bankrupted  his  resources.  But,  lastly,  when  thia 
affectation  is  maintained  of  a  double  doctrine,  by  what 
test  is  the  future  student  to  distinguish  the  one  from 
another  ?  Never  was  there  an  instance  in  which 
vanity  was  more  short-sighted.  It  would  not  be  pos 
Bible  by  any  art  or  invention  more  effectually  to 
extinguish  our  interest  in  a  scheme  of  philosophy  — 
by  summarUy  extinguishing  all  hope  of  our  separating 
he  true  from  the  false,  the  authentic  from  the  spuri- 
i  us  —  than  by  sending  down  to  posterity  this  claim  to 
a  secret  meaning  lurking  behind  a  mask.  If  the  key 
to  the  distinction  between  true  and  false  is  set  down 
with  the  philosophy,  then  what  purpose  of  conceal- 
•nent  is  attained  r  Who  is  it  tliat  is  duped  ?  On  the 
other  hand,  if  it  is  not  sent  down,  what  purpose  of 
trattt  is  attained  ?  Who  is  it  then  that  is  not  duped  ? 
And  if  Plato  relied  upon  a  confidential  s-ucceesor  u 
Jie  oral  expounder  of  his  secret  meaning,  how  blind 
must  he  have  been  to  the  coarse  of  human  contiiigen- 


li}8  Plato's  r^vublic. 

cies,  wLo  should  not  see  that  this  tradition  of  explana- 
tion could  not  flow  onwards  through  foui  successive 
generations  Avithout  inevitably  suffering  some  fatal  in- 
terruption ;  after  which,  once  let  the  chain  be  dropped, 
the  links  would  never  be  recoverable,  as,  in  effect,  we 
now  see  to  be  the  result.  No  man  can  venture  to  say, 
amidst  many  blank  contradictions  and  startling  incon- 
sistencies, which  it  is  that  represents  the  genuine 
opinion  of  Plato  ;  which  the  ostensible  opinion  foi 
evading  a  momentary  objection,  or  for  provoking 
opposition,  or  perhaps  simply  for  prolonging  the  con- 
versation. And  upon  the  whole,  this  one  explosion 
of  vanity,  of  hunger  —  bitter  penury  affecting  the 
riotous  superfluity  of  wealth  —  has  done  more  to 
check  the  interest  in  Plato's  opinions  than  all  his 
mysticism  and  all  his  vagueness  of  purpose.  In  other 
philosophers,  even  in  him  who  professedly  adopted 
the  rule  of  '  axonaov,'  '  darken  your  meaning,^  thei  e 
is  some  chance  of  arriving  at  the  real  doctrine,  be- 
cause, though  hidden,  it  is  one.  But  with  a  man  wjio 
avows  a  purpose  of  double-dealing,  to  understand  is, 
after  all,  the  smallest  part  of  your  task.  Havin^;' 
perhaps  with  difficulty  framed  a  coherent  construction 
for  the  passage,  having  with  much  pains  entitled 
yourself  to  say,  —  '  Now  I  comprehend,' — next  comes 
the  question,  WJiat  is  it  you  comprehend  ?  Whj , 
perhaps  a  doctrine  which  the  author  secretly  abjured  ; 
n  which  he  was  misleading  the  world :  in  which  he 
j.>ut  forward  a  false  opinion  for  the  benefit  of  other 
passages,  and  for  the  sake  of  securing  safety  to  those 
n  which  he  revealed  what  he  supposed  to  be  the 
rruth. 

There   is,  however,  in  the  following  political  hypotb 


Plato's    republic.  439 

esis  of  Plato,  less  real  danger  from  this  conflict  of 
two  meanings,  than  in  those  sases  where  he  treated  a 
great  pre-existing  problem  of  speculation.  Here, 
from  the  practical  nature  of  the  problem,  and  its  more 
ad  libitum  choice  of  topics,  he  was  not  forced  upon 
those  questions,  which,  in  a  more  formal  theorera,  he 
could  not  uniformly  evade.  But  one  difficulty  m\l 
always  remain  for  the  perplexity  of  the  student  —  viz. 
in  what  point  it  was  that  Socrates  had  found  it  dan- 
gerous to  tamper  with  the  religion  of  Greece,  if  Plato 
could  safely  publish  the  free-thinking  objections  which 
are  here  avowed.  In  other  respects,  the  Ideal  Republic 
of  Plato  wUl  surprise  those  who  have  connected  with 
'  the  very  name  of  Plato  a  sort  of  starry  elevation,  and 
a  visionary  dedication  to  what  is  pure.  Of  purity,  in 
any  relation,  there  will  be  found  no  traces  :  of  vision- 
ariness,  more  than  enough. 

The  First  book  of  the  Polity,  or  general  form  of 
Commonwealths,  is  occupied  with  a  natural,  but  very 
immethodical  discussion  of  justice.  Justice  —  as  one 
of  those  original  problems  unattainable  in  solitary  life, 
which  drove  men  into  social  union,  that  by  a  common 
application  of  their  forces  that  might  be  obtained  which 
else  was  at  the  mercy  of  accident  —  should  naturally 
occupy  the  preliminary  place  in  a  speculation  upon 
the  possible  varieties  of  government.  Accordingly, 
Bome  later  authors,  like  Mr.  Godwin,  in  his  Political 
Justice,  have  transmuted  the  whole  question  as  to  forma 
of  social  organization  into  a  transcendent  question  of 
'u3tice  ;  and  how  it  can  be  fairly  distributed  in  recon- 
t  lement  with  the  necessities  of  a  practical  adminis- 
tration or  the  general  prejudices  of  men.  A  state,  a 
wmmonwealth,  for  example,  is  not  simply  a  head  ot 


140  Plato's   kepublic. 

Buprcsmacy  in  relation  to  the  other  members  of  a  polit- 
ical union ;  it  is  also  itself  a  body  amongst  other  co 
equal  bodies  —  one  republic  amongst  other  co-ordinate 
republics.  "War  may  happen  to  arise  ;  taxation  ;  and 
many  other  burdens.  How  are  these  to  be  distributed 
BO  as  not  to  wound  the  fundamental  principle  of  justice  ? 
They  may  be  apportioned  unequally.  That  would  be 
injustice  without  a  question.  There  may  be  scruples 
of  conscience  as  to  war,  or  contributions  to  war. 
That  would  be  a  more  questionable  case ;  but  it 
would  demand  a  consideration,  and  must  be  brought 
into  harmony  with  the  general  theory  of  justice.  For 
the  supreme  problem  in  such  a  speculation  seems  to 
be  this  —  how  to  draw  the  greatest  amount  of  strength 
from  civil  union  ;  how  to  carry  the  powers  of  man  to 
the  greatest  height  of  improvement,  or  to  place  him  in 
the  way  of  such  improvement ;  and  lastly,  to  do  all 
this  in  reconciliation  with  the  least  possible  infringe- 
ment or  suspension  of  man's  individual  rights.  Under 
any  view,  therefore,  of  a  commonwealth,  nobody  will 
object  to  the  investigation  of  justice  —  as  a  proper 
basis  for  the  whole  edifice.  But  the  student  is  dissat- 
isfied with  this  Platonic  introduction  —  1  st,  as  being 
too  casual  and  occasional,  consequently  as  not  pre- 
figuring in  its  course  the  order  of  those  speculations 
which  are  to  follow  ;  2dly,  as  too  verbal  and  hair- 
Bplitting ;  3dly,  that  it  does  not  connect  itself  with 
wliat  follows.  It  stands  inertly  and  uselessly  befort 
the  main  disquisition  as  a  sort  of  vestibule,  but  we  are 
not  made  to  see  any  transition  from  one  to  the  other. 
Meantime,  the  outline  of  this  nominal  introduction 
IB  what  follows :  —  Socrates  has  received  an  invitation 
to  a  dinner  party  ISt'uivov]  from  the  son  of  Cephalus,  • 


Plato's   republic.  44] 

respectable  citizen  of  Athens.  This  citizen^  whose 
sons  are  grown  up,  is  naturally  himself  advanced  in 
years ;  and  is  led,  therefore,  reasonably  to  speak  of  old 
age.  This  he  does  in  the  tone  of  Cicero's  Cato ;  con- 
tending that,  upon  the  whole,  it  is  made  burdensome 
only  by  men's  vices.  But  the  value  of  his  testimony 
is  somewhat  lowered  by  the  fact,  that  he  is  moderately 
%?ealthy  ;  and  secondly,  (which  is  more  important,) 
that  ho  is  constitutionally  moderate  in  his  desires. 
Towards  the  close  of  his  remarks,  he  says  something 
on  the  use  of  riches  in  protecting  us  from  injurious 
treatment  —  whether  of  our  own  towards  others,  or  of 
others  towards  us. 

This  calls  up  Socrates,  "who  takes  occasion  to  put  a 
general  question  as  to  the  nature  and  definition  of  injus- 
tice. Cephalus  declines  the  further  prosecution  of  the 
dialogue  for  himself,  but  devolves  it  on  his  son.  Some 
of  the  usual  Attic  word-sparring  follows  —  of  which 
this  may  be  taken  as  a  specimen :  —  a  definition  hav- 
ing been  given  of  justice  in  a  tentative  way  by  Socrates 
himself,  as  though  it  might  be  that  quality  which  re- 
stores to  every  one  what  we  know  to  be  his  own ;  and 
the  eldest  son  having  adopted  this  definition  as  true, 
Socrates  then  opposes  the  cases  in  which,  having  bor- 
rowed a  sword  from  a  man,  we  should  be  required 
deliberately  to  replace  it  in  the  hands  of  the  owner, 
knowing  him  to  be  mad.  An  angry  interruption  takes 
place  from  one  of  the  company  called  Thrasymachus. 
This  is  appeased  by  the  obliging  behavior  of  Socrates. 
But  it  produces  this  effect  upon  what  follows,  that  in 
Tact  from  one  illustration  adduced  by  this  Tlirasy- 
Oiachus,  the  whole  subsequent  discipline  arises.  He, 
»inongst  other  ai-ts  whirh  he  allciies  in  evidence  of  hii 


t4:2  Plato's  republic. 

news,  cites  that  of  government;  and  by  a  confiisior. 
between  mere  municipal  law  and  the  moial  law  of 
aniversal  obligation,  he  contends  that  in  every  land 
that  is  just  which  promotes  the  interest  or  wishes  of 
the  governing  power  —  be  it  king ,  nobles,  or  people  as 
a  body.  Socrates  opposes  him  by  illustrations,  such 
as  Xenophon's  Memorabilia,  here  made  familiar  to  all 
the  world,  drawn  from  the  arts  of  cooks,  shepherds, 
pilots,  &c. ;  and  the  book  closes  with  a  general  de- 
fence of  justice  as  requisite  to  the  very  existence  of 
political  states  ;  since  without  some  trust  reposed  in 
each  other,  wars  would  be  endless,  it  is  also  presuma- 
ble, that  man,  if  generally  unjust,  would  be  less  pros- 
perous —  as  enjoying  less  of  favor  from  the  gods  ;  and 
finally,  that  the  mind  in  a  temper  of  injustice,  may  be 
regarded  as  diseased ;  that  it  is  less  qualified  for  dis- 
charging its  natural  functions ;  and  that  thus,  whether 
looking  at  bodies  politic  or  individuals,  the  sum  of 
happiness  would  be  greatly  diminished,  if  injustice 
were  allowed  to  prevail. 


BOOK    THE     SECOND. 

In  the  beginning  of  this  Book,  two  brothers.  Glance 
and  Adeimantus,  undertake  the  defence  of  injustice ; 
but  upon  such  arguments  as  have  not  even  a  colorable 
plausibility.  They  suppose  the  case  that  a  man  were 
possessed  of  the  ring  which  conferred  the  privilege  of 
invisibility  ;  a  fiction  so  multiplied  in  modern  fairy 
tales,  but  which  in  the  barren  legends  of  the  Pagan 
(vorld  was  confined  to  the  ring  of  Gyges.  Armed  witi 
this  advantage,  they  contend  that  every  man  would  ba 
unjust      But  this  is  change  ')nly  of  fact      Neyt,  how- 


^  Plato's  republic.  443 

3ver,  they  suppose  a  case  still  more  monstroua ;  viz 
that  moral  distinctions  should  be  so  far  confounded,  as 
that  a  man  practising  all  injustice,  should  pass  for  a 
man  exquisitely  just,  and  that  a  corresponding  transfer 
of  reputation  should  take  place  with  regard  to  the  just 
man :  under  such  circumstances,  they  contend  that 
every  man  would  hasten  to  be  unjust ;  and  that  the 
unjust  would  reap  all  the  honors  together  with  all  the 
advantages  of  life.  From  all  which  they  iafer  two 
things  —  First,  that  injustice  is  not  valued  for  anything 
in  its  own  nature  or  essence,  but  for  its  consequences ; 
and  secondly,  that  it  is  a  combination  of  the  Aveak  many 
against  the  few  who  happen  to  be  strong,  which  has 
invested  justice  with  so  much  splendor  by  means  of 
written  laws.  It  seems  strange  that  even  for  a  mo- 
mentary effect  in  conversation,  such  trivial  sophistry 
as  this  could  avail.  Because,  if  in  order  to  represent 
justice  and  injustice  as  masquerading  amongst  men, 
and  losing  their  customary  effects,  or  losing  their 
corresponding  impressions  upon  men's  feelings,  it  is 
necessary  first  of  all  to  suppose  the  whole  realities 
of  life  confounded,  and  fantastic  impossibilities  estab- 
lished, no  result  at  all  from  such  premises  could  be 
worthy  of  attention ;  and,  after  all,  the  particular  result 
supposed  does  not  militate  in  any  respect  against  the 
received  notions  as  to  moral  distinctions.  Injustice 
might  certainly  pass  for  justice ;  and  as  a  second  case, 
injustice  having  a  bribe  attached  to  it,  might  blind  the 
moral  sense  to  its  true  proportions  of  evil.  But  that 
will  not  prove  that  injustice  can  ever  fascinate  as  in. 
justice,  or  again,  that  it  will  ever  prosper  as  regards  ita 
effects  in  that  undisguised  manifestation.  ]f,  to  win 
^on  men's  esteem,  it  must  onvately  wear  the  mask  of 


444  PLAIO'S    fiKPUBLIC.  # 

justice;  or  if,  to  win  upon  men's  practice,  it  must  pre- 
viously connect  itself  with  artificial  bounties  of  honoi 
and  preferment  —  all  this  is  but  another  way  of  pro- 
nouncing an  eulogy  on  justice.  It  is  agreeable,  how- 
ever, to  find,  that  these  barren  speculations  are  soon 
made  to  lead  into  questions  more  directly  pertinent  t"* 
the  constitution  of  bodies  politic.  Socrates  observea 
that  large  models  are  best  fitted  to  exhibit  the  course 
of  any  action  or  process ;  and  therefore  he  shifts  the 
field  of  obstruction  from  the  individual  man,  armed 
or  not  with  the  ring  of  Gyges,  to  regular  common- 
wealths ;  in  which  it  is,  and  in  their  relations  to  other 
commonwealths  or  to  their  own  internal  parts,  that  he 
proposes  to  answer  these  wild  sophisms  on  the  subject 
of  justice  as  a  moral  obligation. 

Socrates  lays  the  original  foundation  of  all  political 
states  in  want  or  reciprocal  necessity.  And  of  human 
necessity  the  very  primal  shape  is  that  which  regards 
our  livelihood.  Here  it  is  interesting  to  notice  what 
is  the  minimum  which  Plato  assumes  for  the  '  outfit ' 
(according  to  our  parliamentary  term)  of  social  life. 
We  moderns,  for  the  mounting  a  colony  or  other  social 
establishment,  are  obliged  to  assume  at  least  five  heads 
of  expenditure;  viz.,  1,  food;  2,  shelter,  or  housing; 
3,  clothing ;  4,  warmth  (or  fuel) ;  5,  light.  But  the 
two  last  we  owe  to  our  colder  climate,  and  (which  is  a 
consequence  of  that)  to  our  far  more  unequal  distribu- 
tion of  daylight.  Ab  the  ancients  knew  nothing  of  our 
very  short  days,  so  on  the  other  hand  they  knew  noth- 
ing, it  is  true,  of  our  very  long  ones  ;  and  at  first  sight 
it  might  seem  as  if  the  one  balanced  the  other.  Bu* 
it  is  not  so  ;  sunrise  and  sunset  were  far  more  nearlj 
for  the  ancients,  than  they  ever  can  be  for  nations  ii 


Plato's  kepublic.  445 

ftigher  latitudes,  coincident  with  the  periods  of  retiring 
to  rest  and  rising  ;  and  thus  it  was  that  they  obtained 
another  advantage  —  that  of  evading  much  call  for 
fuel.  Neitht-r  artificial  light,  nor  artificial  heat,  were 
much  needed  in  ancient  times.  Hot  climates,  often 
more  than  cold  ones,  require  (it  is  true)  artificial  heat 
after  sunset.  But  the  ancient  Greeks  and  Romans,  a 
fortiori  all  nations  less  refined,  were  in  bed  by  that 
time  during  the  periods  of  their  early  simplicity,  that 
IS,  during  the  periods  of  their  poverty.  The  total 
expense  in  fuel  amongst  the  Greeks,  was  upon  a  scale 
suited  to  ages  in  which  fossil  coal  was  an  unknown  staff 
of  life  :  it  was  no  more  than  met  the  simple  demands 
of  cookers,  and  of  severe  winters  ;  these,  it  is  true, 
even  in  Spain,  nay  in  Syria,  are  sometimes  accompa- 
nied with  heavy  storms  of  snow.*  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  winters  are  short ;  and  even  so  far  north  in 
Italy  as  Milan,  the  season  of  geniial  spring,  and  of 
luxuriant  flowers,  often  commences  in  February.  In 
contrast  with  our  five  requisitions  of  northern  latitudes, 
which,  as  implying  a  higher  (because  a  more  provi- 
dent) scale  of  existence,  have  a  philosophic  value,  it  is 
interesting  to  find  Plato,  under  the  person  of  Socrates, 
requiring  only  three  ;  viz.  food,  clothes,  and  lodging. 
The  arts,  therefore,  which  he  presumes  requisite  for 
establishing  a  city,  ai-e  four :  one  occupied  with  the 
culture  of  the  ground  ;  one  with  the  building  of  habita- 
tions ;  and  two,  ministerial  to  the  udorning,  or  at  leasi 
to  the  protecting  of  the  person.  The  ploughman 
before  all  others  for  our  food  —  in  the  second  rank, 

• '  Storms  of  $now.'  —  For  an  instance  of  a  very  critical  fall  of 
mow  near  Jerusalem  iiot  long  before  our  Saviour's  time,  set 
Jotfephus. 


446  Plato's  republic. 

Jhe  mason  for  raising  dwelling-houses  —  and  in  th« 
»ast  place,  the  weaver  combined  with  the  shoemakex 
for  the  manufacturing  our  dress  ;  these  four  artista. 
Bays  Plato,  are  the  very  minimum  establishment  on 
which  a  city  or  a  colony  can  begin  to  move.  But  a 
very  few  steps  wiU  bring  us,  he  remarks,  to  a  call  for 
further  arts  ;  in  particular,  it  will  soon  be  found  that  it 
is  a  sad  waste  of  time  for  any  of  the  four  already 
mentioned  to  be  interrupted  by  the  necessity  of  making 
their  several  tools  and  implements.  A  fifth  artist  will 
therefore  be  found  necessary,  in  the  character  of  tool- 
maker,  in  common  with  all  the  rest.  A  sixth  and  a 
seventh  will  be  soon  called  for,  in  the  character  of 
shepherds  and  herdsmen ;  for  if  sheep  and  oxen  are 
not  indispensable  as  food,  they  are  so  as  furnishing  the 
leather  required  by  the  shoemaker.  And  lastly,  mer- 
chants, for  the  purpose  of  exporting  the  surplus  pro- 
ducts, and  of  importing  such  as  are  defective,  together 
with  resident  dealers  in  all  articles  of  household  use 
are  contemplated  as  completing  the  establishment.  The 
gradual  accession  of  luxuries  in  every  class  is  next 
presumed  as  what  would  follow  in  general,  but  would 
not  be  allowed  in  Plato's  republic  ;  and,  as  the  increase 
of  population  will  require  additional  territory,  (though 
it  is  an  oversight  not  to  have  assigned  from  the  first 
the  quantity  of  soil  occupied,  and  the  circumstances  of 
position  in  regard  to  neighbors,)  this  will  make  an 
opening  for  war  ;  and  that  again  for  a  regular  class  of 
men  dedicated  to  the  arts  of  attack  and  defence.  It  is 
singular  that  Plato  should  thus  arbitrarily  lay  his 
ground  of  war  in  aggressive  principles  —  becaise,  if 
be  assumed  his  territory  spacious  enough,  and  tha 
3^>ansion  of  population  as   slow  as   it    really  was  ii 


Plato's  republic.  447 

Greece,  the  case  in  which  he  finally  plants  his  neces- 
wty  for  war  might  not  occur  until  the  new  state  should 
be  rich  enough  to  find,  in  the  difficulty  supposed,  a  cause 
for  throwing  ofi"  colonies,  rather  than  for  unprovoked 
attacks  on  neighboring  states.  It  is  remarkable,  how- 
ever, that  Plato,  a  pagan  writer,  makes  war  a  subse- 
quent and  ministerial  phenomenon  in  civil  societies ; 
whereas  Hobbes,  nominally  a  Christian,  makes  the 
belligerent  condition  to  be  that  transcendent  and 
original  condition  of  man,  out  of  which  society  itself 
arose. 

War,  however,  has  begun ;  and  soldiers,  as  a  merce- 
nary class,  are  henceforwards  required.  Upon  which 
Plato  unfolds  his  ideas  as  to  the  proper  qualifications 
of  a  soldier.  Of  course  he  insists  upon  courage, 
athletic  powers  of  body  in  general,  (qualifications  so 
pre-eminently  required  before  the  invention  of  fire- 
arms,*) and  especially  upon  the  power  of  speed  and 
agility.  But  it  is  singular  that  in  describing  the  tem- 
perament likely  to  argue  coiu:age,  he  insists  upon 
irascibility ;  whereas,  with  far  more  truth  of  philoso- 
phy, his  pupU  Aristotle,  in  after  years,  speaks  con- 
temptuously of  all  courage  founded  upon  anger,  as 
generally  spurious  in  its  nature,  and  liable  to  the  same 
suspicion  as  that  which  is  founded  upon  intoxication. 

It  is  upon  this  occasion,  and  in  connection  with  the 

*  *  Fire-arms.'  —  It  is  very  true  that  the  essential  principle  dis- 
tingiiishlng  fire-arms,  viz.,  their  application  to  distant  warfare 
making  men  independent  of  personal  strength,  was  found  in 
llingers  and  archers.  But  tnese  arms  of  the  martial  service 
were  always  in  some  disrepute  in  Greece  ;  even  Hercules  (in 
the  Here.  Furens)  is  described  by  Euripides  as  subject  to 
ridicule  and  reproach  from  Lycus,  his  enemy,  on  account  of 
\is  having  resorted  to  archery. 


448  Plato's  republic. 

eduoation  of  this  state  soldiery,  as  a  professional  class 
needing  to  be  trained  expressly  for  a  life  of  adventur- 
ous service,  and  of  hardship,  that  Plato  introduces  his 
celebrated  doctrine  imputing  mischievous  falsehood  to 
the  poets.  The  mythology  of  paganism,  it  is  needless 
to  say,  represented  the  gods  under  characters  the  most 
hideous  and  disgusting.  But  the  main  circumstances 
in  these  representations,  according  to  Plato,  are  mere 
fictions  of  Hesiod  and  of  Homer.  Strange,  indeed, 
that  Plato  should  ascribe  to  any  poets  whatever,  so 
prodigious  a  power  as  that  of  having  created  a  national 
religion.  For  the  religion  of  paganism  was  not  some- 
thing independent  of  the  mythology.  It  was  wholly 
involved  in  the  mythology.  Take  away  the  mytho- 
logic  legends,  and  you  take  away  all  the  objects  of 
worship.  The  characteristics  by  which  Latona  is  dis- 
tinguished from  Ceres,  Apollo  from  Mercury,  Diana 
'"rom  Minerva,  Hebe  from  Aurora,  all  vanish,  and 
leave  mere  nonentities,  if  the  traditional  circumstance 
of  their  theogony  and  history  is  laid  aside  as  fabulous. 
Besides,  if  this  could  be  surmounted,  and  if  Plato 
could  account  for  all  the  tribes  of  Hellas  having  adopt- 
td  what  he  supposes  to  be  the  reveries  of  two  solitary 
poets,  how  could  he  account  for  the  general  argument 
in  these  traditions  of  other  distant  nations,  who  never 
heard  so  much  as  the  names  of  the  two  Greek  poets, 
aor  could  have  read  them  if  they  had?  The  whole 
speculation  is  like  too  many  in  Plato  —  without  a 
shadow  of  coherency  ;  and  at  every  angle  presenting 
some  fresh  incongruity.  The  fact  really  was,  that  the 
human  intellect  had  been  for  some  time  outgrowing  ita 
foul  religions ;  clamorously  it  began  to  demand  som* 
change ;  but  how  little  it  was  tble  to  effect  that  change 


PLATO  S    REPUBLIC.  449 

for  itself,  is  evident  from  no  example  more  than  tliat  of 
Plato  ;  for  he,  whilst  dismissing  as  fables  some  of  the 
grosser  monstrosities  which  the  Pagan  pantheon  offered, 
loaded  in  effect  that  deity,  whom  he  made  a  concurrent 
party  to  his  own  schemes  for  man,  with  vile  qualities, 
"juite  as  degrading  as  any  which  he  removed ;  and  in 
effect  so  much  the  worse,  as  regarded  the  result,  be- 
cause, wanting  the  childish  monstrosities  of  the  mytho- 
logic  legends,  they  had  no  benefit  from  any  allegoric 
interpretations  in  the  background.  Thus  cruelty  and 
sensuality,  if  they  happen  to  fall  in  with  a  pagan  phi- 
losopher's notions  of  state  utility,  instantly  assume  a 
place  in  his  theories;  and  thence  is  transferred  upon 
the  deities,  who  are  supposed  to  sanction  this  system, 
a  far  deeper  taint  of  moral  pollution  than  that  which, 
being  connected  with  extravagant  or  ludicrous  tales, 
might  provoke  an  enlightened  mind  to  reject  it  with 
incredulity,  or  receive  it  as  symbolic.  Meantime,  it  is 
remarkable  that  Plato  should  connect  this  reform  in 
education  specially  with  his  soldiers  ;  and  still  more  so, 
when  we  understand  his  reason.  It  was  apparently  on 
two  grounds  that  he  fancied  the  pagan  superstitions 
injurious  to  a  class  of  men  whom  it  was  important  to 
keep  clear  of  panics.  First,  on  an  argument  derived 
from  the  Hades  of  the  poets,  Plato  believed  the  modes 
of  punishment  exhibited  by  these  poets  to  be  too  alarm- 
ing, and  likely  to  check  by  intimidation  that  career  of 
violence  which  apparently  he  thinks  requisite  in  a 
B^.iier.  Surely  he  might  have  spared  his  anxiety  ;  for 
if,  in  any  quarter  of  its  ba'-'cn  superstitions,  paganism 
betrayed  its  impoverished  fdpcy,  it  was  in  its  pictures 
»f  Tartarus,  where,  besides  that  the  several  cases  are, 
at,  so  scanty,  and  applied  only  lO  monstrous  offences  .• 

•29 


450  Plato's  republic. 

4nd  2d,  sc  ludicrous,  they  are,  3d,  all  of  ttem  ineiFec- 
tual  for  terror,  were  it  only  by  the  general  impression 
conveyed  that  they  are  allegoric,  and  meant  to  be 
allegoric.  Secondly,  Plato  seems  to  have  had  in  his 
tlioughts  those  panic  terrors  which  sometimes  arose 
from  the  belief  that  superior  beings  suddenly  revealed 
themselves  in  strange  shapes  ;  —  both  in  Roman  and 
Grecian  experience,  these  fancied  revelations  had  pro- 
duced unexpected  victories,  but  also  unexpected  flights. 
He  argues,  accordingly,  against  the  possibility  of  a 
god  adopting  any  metamorphosis ;  but  upon  the  weak 
scholastic  argument,  weaker  than  a  cobweb  to  any 
superstitious  heart,  that  a  celestial  being  would  not 
leave  a  better  state  for  a  worse.  How  visionary  to 
suppose  that  any  mind  previously  inclined  to  shadowy 
terrors,  and  under  the  operation  of  solitude,  of  awful 
silence,  and  of  wild  grotesque  scenery  in  forests  or 
mountains,  would  be  charmed  into  sudden  courage  by 
an  a  priori  little  conundrum  of  the  logic  school !  Oh ! 
philosopher,  laid  by  the  side  of  a  simple-hearted  primi- 
tive Christian,  what  a  fool  dost  thou  appear !  And 
•ifter  all,  if  such  evils  arose  from  familiarity  with  the 
poets,  and  on  that  account  the  soldiery  was  to  be  se- 
cluded from  all  such  reading  —  how  were  they  to  be 
preserved  from  contagion  of  general  conversation  with 
their  fellow-citizens?  Or,  again,  on  foreign  expedi- 
tions, how  v^ere  they  to  be  sequestered  from  such  tra- 
ditions as  were  generally  current,  and  were  everywhere 
made  the  subject  of  dinner  recitations,  or  prelections 
or  of  national  music  ? 

In  the  midst  of  these  impracticable  solicitudes  foi 
the  welfare  of  his  soldiers,  Plato  does  not  overlook  th» 
probability  that  men  trained  to  violence  may  mutiny 


PLATO  S    BEPX7BLIC. 


451 


and  (being  consciously  the  sole  depositaries*  of  the 
public  weapons  and  skill,  as  well  as  originally  selected 
for  superior  promise  of  strength)  may  happen  to  com- 
bine, and  to  turn  their  arms  against  their  fellow-citi- 
zens. It  is  painful  to  see  so  grave  a  danger  dismissed 
BO  carelessly  —  tantamne  rem  tarn  negligenter  ?  The 
Bole  pro\'i8ion  which  Plato  makes  against  the  for- 
midable danger,  is  by  moral  precepts,  impressing  on 
the  soldier  kindness  and  affability  to  those  whom  it 
was  his  professional  mission  to  protect.  But  such 
mere  sanctions  of  decorum  or  usage  —  how  weak 
must  they  be  found  to  protect  any  institution  merely 
human,  against  a  strong  interest  mo\*ing  in  an  adverse 
direction  !  The  institutions  of  Romulus,  in  a  simple 
and  credulous  age,  had  the  consecration  (perhaps  not 
imaginary,  but,  beyond  a  doubt,  universally  believed) 
of  heaven  itself —  a  real  sanctity  guarded  the  insti- 
tutions of  Rome,  which  yet  rocked  and  quaked  for 
centuries  under  the  conflicting  interests  of  the  citizens. 
But  a  philosopher's  republic,  in  an  age  of  philosophy 
and  free-thinking,  must  repose  upon  human  securities. 
Show  any  order  of  men  a  strong  change  setting  in 
upon  the  current  of  their  civil  interests,  and  they  will 
soon  be  led  to  see  a  corresponding  change  in  their 
duties.  Not  to  mention  that  the  sense  of  duty  must 
be  weak  at  all  times  amongst  men  whom  Plato  sup- 
poses expressly  trained  to  acts  of  violence,  Avhom  he 
Boeks  to  wean  from  the  compunction  of  religion,  and 
whose  very  service  and  profession  had  its  first  origin 
in  acknowledged  rapacity.  Thus,  by  express  institu- 
tion of  Plato,  and  bv  his  own  forecasting,  had  the 
•ol.licry  arisen.  Thus  had  the  storm  been  called  up ; 
»nd  it  would  be  too  late  to  bid  it  wheel   this   way  oi 


452 


TLATO  S    REPUBllC. 


that,  after  its  power  had  been  consciously  developed, 
Rnd  the  principles  which  should  control  this  powei 
were  found  to  be  nothing  more  than  the  ancient  inten- 
tions of  a  theoretic  founder,  or  the  pai'ticular  interests 
of  a  favored  class. '  Besides,  it  will  be  seen  further  on, 
that  the  soldiers  are  placed  under  peculiar  disadvan- 
tages —  they  are  to  possess  nothing ;  and  thus,  in 
addition  to  the  strong  temptation  of  conscious  power, 
they  are  furnished  with  a  second  temptation  in  their 
painful  poverty,  contrasted  with  the  comparative 
wealth  of  the  cowardly  citizens  whom  they  protect; 
and  finally,  with  a  third,  (which  also  furnished  an  ex- 
cuse,) in  the  feeling  that  they  are  an  injured  class. 

BOOK    THE    THIKD. 

Plato  is  neither  methodic  nor  systematic  ;  he  has 
neither  that  sort  of  order  which  respects  the  connec- 
tion of  what  he  teaches  as  a  thing  to  be  understood, 
nor  that  which  respects  its  connection  as  a  thing  which 
is  to  be  realized  —  neither  that  which  concerns  the 
ratio  cognoscendi,  (to  adopt  a  great  distinction  revived 
by  Leibnitz  from  the  schoolmen,)  nor  that,  on  the 
other  hand,  which  regards  the  ratio  essendi.  This 
last  neglect  he  could  not  have  designed  ;  the  other 
perhaps  he  did.  And  the  very  form  of  dialogue  or 
conversations  was  probably  adopted  to  intimate  as 
much.  Be  that  as  it  may,  we  look  in  vain  for  any 
Buch  distribution  of  the  subject  as  should  justify  the 
modern  division  into  separate  books.  The  loose  order 
of  colloquial  discussion,  sometimes  going  back,  some- 
times leaping  forward  with  impatient  anticipation,  and 
then  again  thoughtfully  resuming  a  topic  insuflficiently 
examined  —  such  is  the   law  of   succession   by  whict 


Plato's  kepublic.  453 

the  general  theme  is  slowly  advanced,  and  its  partic. 
ular  heads  are  casually  unfolded. 

Accordingly,  in  this  third  hook  the  subject  of  the 
Boldiery  is  resumed ;  and  the  proper  education  for  that 
main  column  of  the  state,  on  which  its  very  existence 
is  openly  founded,  engages  the  more  circumstantial 
attention  of  Plato.  The  leading  object  kept  in  view, 
as  regards  the  mental  discipline,  is  to  brace  the  mind 
against  fear.  And  here,  again,  Plato  comes  bact 
upon  the  poets,  whom  he  taxes  with  arts  of  emascula- 
tion, in  reference  to  the  hardy  courage  which  his 
system  demands.  He  distributes  the  poets  into  the 
two  great  classes  of  narrative  and  dramatic ;  those 
who  speak  directly  in  their  own  person,  like  Homer  ;^' 
and  those  who  utter  their  sentiments  as  ventriloquists, 
throwing  their  voice  first  upon  this  character  of  a 
drama,  next  upon  that.  It  is  difficult  to  see  what  pur- 
pose Plato  had  in  this  distribution  ;  but  it  is  highly 
interesting  to  us  of  this  day,  because  we  might  other- 
wise have  supposed  that,  upoji  a  point  of  delicacy, 
Plato  had  forborne  to  involve  in  his  censure  of  the 
poets  that  body  of  great  dramatists,  so  recently  drawn 
into  existence,  and  of  whom  two  at  least  (Euripides 
and  Aristophanes)  were  in  part  of  their  lives  contem- 
porary with  himself.  He  does,  however,  expressly 
notice  them ;  and,  what  is  more  to  the  purpose,  he 
applies  to  them  his  heaviest  censure :  though  on  what 
principle,  is  somewhat  obscure.  The  nominal  rea- 
son for  his  anger  is  —  that  they  proceed  by  means  of 
imitation ;  and  that  e^en  mimetically  to  represent 
woman,  lias  the  effect  of  transfusing  effeminacy,  by 
Borae  unexplained  process,  in^o  the  manners  of  the 
Imitator.     Now,  really,  tlu.-,  at  the  best  would  bo  too 


454 


PLArO  S    REPUBLIC. 


fantastic.  But  when  we  reflect  on  the  great  tragic 
poets  of  Greece,  and  consider  that  in  the  midst  of 
pagan  darkness  the  only  rays  of  moral  light  are  to 
be  found  in  them,  and  that  Milton,  almost  a  bigot, 
as  being  a  Puritan,  yet  with  that  exalted  standard  of 
scriptural  truth  which  he  carried  forever  in  his  mind, 
refers  to  these  poets,  and  the  great  theatre  which  they 
founded,  for  the  next  best  thing  to  Christian  teach- 
ing—  we  feel  our  hearts  alienated  from  Plato.  But 
when  we  also  contrast  with  this  Greek  scenical  moral- 
ity and  its  occasional  elevation,  the  brutal,  sensual, 
and  cruel  principles  which  we  sometimes  find  in  Plato 
himself,  (more  frequently  indeed,  and  more  outra- 
geously, than  in  any  other  pagan  author  of  eminence,) 
—  it  cannot  be  thought  unreasonable  that  our  aliena- 
tion should  amount  to  disgust.  Euripides  was  truly  a 
great  man,  struggling  for  a  higher  light  than  he  could 
find.  Plato  was  a  thorough  Greek,  satisfied,  so  far  as 
ethics  were  concerned,  with  the  light  which  existed, 
nor  dreaming  of  anything  higher.  And,  with  respect 
to  the  Greek  religion,  Euripides  forestalled,  by  twenty 
years,  all  that  Plato  has  said  ;  we  have  his  words  to 
this  day,  and  they  are  much  more  impressive  than 
Plato's  ;  and  probably^"*  these  very  words  of  Euripides 
first  suggested  to  Plato  the  doctrine  which  he  so  mali- 
ciously directs  in  this  place  against  the  very  poets  as  a 
body,  who,  through  one  of  their  number,  first  gave 
currency  to  such  a  bold  speculation,  and  first  tried  as 
enfans  perdus,  (or  the  leaders  of  a  forlorn  hope.) 
whether  the  timid  superstition  of  the  Athenians^  and 
the  fanaticism  founded  on  their  fear,  would  tolerate 
such  innovations. 

After  this  second  sentence  of  exile  against  the  poet* 


PLAXO'S    REPUBLIC.  455 

—  whicli  we  caxinot  but  secretly  trace  to  the  jealousy 
of  Plato,  armed  against  that  section  of  the  Athenian 
literati  most  in  the  public  favor  —  we  are  carried 
forward  tc  the  music  of  the  Greeks.  The  soldiery 
are  excluded  from  all  acquaintance  with  any  but  thn 
austerer  modes.  But  as  this  is  a  subject  still  mysteri- 
ous even  to  those  who  come  armed  with  the  knowledge 
of  music  as  a  science,  and  as  no  more  than  a  general 
caution  is  given,  this  topic  is  not  one  of  those  which 
we  are  called  on  to  discuss. 

So  slight  was  the  Grecian  circuit  of  education, 
and  especially  where  mathematics  happened  to  be 
excluded,  that  poetry  and  music  apparently  bound 
the  practical  encyclopaedia  of  Plato.  From  the  mind, 
therefore,  he  passes  to  the  physical  education.  And 
here  we  find  two  leading  cautions,  of  which  one,  ai 
least,  is  built  on  more  accurate  observation  of  medical 
truths  than  we  should  have  expected  in  the  age  of 
Plato.  The  first  will,  perhaps,  not  much  strike  the 
reader,  for  it  expresses  only  the  stern  injunction  upon 
every  soldier  of  that  temperance  as  to  strong  liquors, 
which  in  our  days  has  descended  (with  what  perma 
nence  we  fear  to  ask)  amongst  the  very  lowest  and 
most  sufiering  of  human  beings.  It  is,  however, 
creditable  to  Plato,  that  he  should  have  perceived  the 
mischievous  operation  of  inebriation  upon  the  health 
iind  strength  ;  for  in  his  age,  the  evil  of  such  a 
practice  was  chiefly  thrown  upon  its  moral  effects^  — 
the  indecorums  which  it  caused,  the  quarrels,  the 
murderous  contests,  the  lasting  alienations,  and  the 
perilous  breaches  of  confidence.  There  was  little 
general  sense  of  any  evil  in  wine  as  a  relaxer  of  the 
bodily  system  ;  as,  on   tne   other  hand,  neither   then 


456  PLATO'S    KEPUBLIC. 

nor  in  our  (lays  is  there  any  just  appreciation  of  tbb 
lubsidiary  benefits  which  sometimes  arise  from  strong 
liquors,  or  at  least  the  clamorous  call  for  such  liquors, 
in  cold  climates  where  the  diet  is  cold  and  watery. 
Edmund  Burke,  as  we  remember,  in  his  enlarged 
wisdom  did  not  overlook  this  case  ;  we  individually 
have  seen  too  large  a  series  of  cases  to  doubt  the  fact 
—  that  in  vast  cities,  wherever  the  diet  of  poor  families 
bappens  to  be  thrown  too  much  upon  mere  watery 
broths,  it  is  a  pure  instinct  of  nature,  and  often  a  very 
salutary  instinct,  which  forces  them  into  a  compen- 
satory stimulus  of  alcohol.  The  same  natural  instinct 
for  strong  liquor  as  a  partial  relief,  is  said  to  be 
prompted  by  scrofula.  In  a  Grecian  climate,  and 
with  a  limited  population,  this  anomalous  use  of  wine 
was  not  requisite  ;  and  for  the  soldiery,  enjoying  a 
select  diet,  it  could  least  of  all  be  needful.  Plato  shows 
his  good  sense,  therefore,  as  well  as  the  accuracy  of 
his  observation,  in  forbidding  it.  For  he  notices  one 
effect  which  invariably  follows  from  the  addiction  to 
strong  liquors,  even  where  as  yet  they  have  not  mas- 
tered the  constitutional  vigor ;  A^iz.  their  tendency  to 
produce  a  morbid  sensibility  to  cold.  We  ourselves 
nave  seen  a  large  party  of  stout  men  travelling  on  a 
tnorning  of  intense  severity.  Amongst  the  whole 
number,  nine  or  ten,  there  were  two  only  who  did 
not  occasionally  shiver,  or  express  some  unpleasant 
feeling  connected  with  the  cold  ;  and  these  two  were 
the  sole  water-drinkers  of  the  party.  The  othei 
Daution  of  Plato  shows  even  more  accuracy  of  at- 
tention ;  and  it  is  completely  verified  by  modem 
experience.  He  is  naturally  anxious  that  the  diet  of 
the  soldiery  should  be   simple  and    wholesome.     Now 


Plato's  eepublic.  457 

it  was  almost  certain  that  those  who  reflected  on  the 
final  object  he  had  in  view,  would  at  once  interpret 
his  meaning  as  pointing  to  the  diet  of  professional 
athletes.  These  men  for  Greece  were  the  forerunners 
of  the  ]loman  gladiators  ;  as  the  Greek  hippodrome 
bisected  itself  into  the  Roman  circus  and  amphitheatre. 
And  as  Plato's  object  was  to  secure  the  means  of 
unusual  strength,  what  more  natural  than  to  consult 
the  experience  of  those  who,  having  long  had  the  very 
same  end,  must  by  this  time  have  accumulated  a  large 
science  of  the  appropriate  means  ?  Now,  on  closer 
examination,  Plato  perceived  that  the  end  was  not  the 
same.  The  gladiatorial  schools  had  before  them  some 
day,  well  known  and  immutable,  of  public  festivities 
and  games,  against  which  they  were  to  prepare  their 
maximum  of  bodily  power.  By  the  modern  and  by 
the  ancient  system  of  training,  it  is  notorious  that  this 
preparatory .  discipline  can  be  calculated  to  a  nicety. 
When  the  '  fancy '  was  in  favor  amongst  ourselves, 
the  pagUist,  after  entering  into  any  legal  engagement, 
under  strong  penalties,  to  fight  on  a  day  assigned, 
went  into  training  about  six  weeks  previously  ;  and  by 
the  appointed  time  he  had,  through  diet,  exercise, 
sleep,  all  nicely  adjusted  to  the  rules  of  this  discipline, 
brought  up  his  muscular  strength  and  his  wind  to  the 
summit  of  what  his  constitution  allowed.  Now,  cer- 
tainly, in  a  general  view,  the  purpose  of  the  Platonic 
soldier  was  the  same,  but  with  this  important  differ- 
ence—  that  his  fighting  condition  was  needed  not  on 
one  or  two  days  consecutively,  but  on  many  days,  and 
Hot  against  a  day  punctually  assignable,  but  against  a 
reason  or  period  perhaps  of  months,  quite  indeter- 
ninate  as  to  its  beginning,  end,  or  duration.     This  one 


458 


PLATO  S    REPUBLIC. 


difierence  made  the  whole  diflference  ;  for  both  ancient 
fcud  modem  training  concur  in  these  two  remarkable 
facts  —  1st.  That  a  condition  of  physical  power  thus 
preternaturally  produced  cannot  be  maintained,  but 
that  uniformly  a  very  rapid  relapse  follows  to  a  con- 
dition of  debility.  Like  the  stone  of  Sisyphus,  the 
more  painfully  and  with  unnatural  effort  a  resisting 
object  has  been  rolled  up  to  a  high  summit,  with  so 
much  the  more  thundering  violence  does  it  run  back. 
The  state  was  too  intense  not  to  be  succeeded  by 
Budden  recoil.  2dly.  It  has  been  found  that  these 
spasms  of  preternatural  tension  are  not  without  dan- 
ger :  apoplexes,  ruptures  of  large  blood-vessels,  and 
other  modes  of  sudden  death,  are  apt  to  follow  from 
the  perilous  tampering  with  the  exquisite  machinery  of 
nature.  This  also  had  been  the  experience  of  Greece. 
Time,  as  a  great  element  in  all  powerful  changes, 
must  be  allowed  in  order  to  secure  their  safety.  Plato, 
therefore,  lays  down  as  a  great  law  for  the  physical 
discipline,  that  in  no  part  of  its  elements,  whether  diet, 
exercise,  abstinence,  or  gymnastic  feats  of  strength  anc' 
address,  shall  the  ritual  for  the  soldiers  borrow  any- 
thing from  the  schools  of  the  athJetcB. 

In  the  remaining  part  of  this  Book,  we  have  some 
organic  arrangements  proposed.  First,  as  to  the  local 
situation  —  a  strong  military  position  is  requisite  for 
the  soldiery,  and  ground  must  therefore  be  selected 
originally  which  offers  this  advantage.  The  position 
is  to  be  such  as  may  at  once  resist  a  foreign  enemy 
and  command  the  other  orders  in  the  state.  Upon  this 
ground,  a  body  of  lodgings  is  to  be  built ;  and  in  these 
lodgings  a  single  regard  is  prescribed  to  the  purpose 
in  view.  Direct  utility  and  convenience,  without  03teiir 


PliATO's     KEPCBLIC.  459 

iation,  are  to  preside  in  the  distribution  of  the  parts 
%nd  in  the  architectural  style  ;  the  buildings  are,  in 
fact,  to  unite  at  once  the  uses  of  a  barrack  and  a 
fortress. 

Next,  as  this  fortress,  distinct  from  the  other  part* 
of  the  city,  when  connected  with  arms,  and  the  use  ol 
arms,  and  regular  discipline,  and  select  qualities  of 
body,  cannot  but  throw  vast  power  into  the  hands  of 
the  soldiery,  so  that  from  being  guardians  of  the  city, 
(as  by  direct  tUle  they  are,)  they  might  easily  become 
its  oppressors  and  pUlagers,  universally  the  soldiers  are 
to  be  incapable  by  law  of  holding  any  property  what- 
ever, without  regard  to  quality,  without  regard  to  tenure. 
They  can  inherit  nothing  ;  they  can  possess  nothing  ; 
neither  gold  nor  silver,  metals  which  must  not  even 
find  an  entrance  into  their  dwellings  under  pretence  of 
custody  ;  nor  land  ;  nor  any  other  article  ;  nor,  finally, 
must  they  exercise  a  trade. 

Thirdly,  the  administration  of  affairs,  the  executive 
power,  and  the  supreme  rank,  are  vested  in  the  persona 
of  the  highest  military  officers  —  those  who  rise  to  that 
station  by  seniority  and  by  extraordinary  merit.  This 
is  very  vaguely  developed  ;  but  enough  exists  to  show 
that  the  form  of  polity  would  be  a  martial  aristocracy, 
a  qualified  '  stratocracy.'  In  this  state,  it  is  not  so 
much  true  that  an  opening  or  a  temptation  is  offered 
to  a  martial  tyranny,  as  that,  in  fact,  such  a  tyranny  ia 
planted  and  rooted  from  tne  first  with  all  the  organs 
of  administration  at  its  disposal. 

Lastly,  in  what  way  is  the  succession  to  be  regulated 
tnrough  the  several  ranks  and  functions  of  the  state? 
Vot  exactly,  or  under  positive  settlement,  by  castes,  or 
kn  Egyptian  succession  of  a  son  to  his  father's  trade. 


i60  t'LATO  S     KEPUBLIC. 

&c.  This  is  denounced  in  tlie  sense  of  an  ancon- 
ditional  or  unbending  system ;  for  it  is  admitted  tha* 
fathers  of  talent  may  have  incompetent  sons,  and  stupid 
fathers  may  have  sons  of  brilliant  promise.  But,  on 
the  whole,  it  seems  to  be  assumed  that,  amongst  ths 
highest,  or  martial  order,  the  care  dedicated  to  the 
Belection  of  the  parents  will  ensure  children  of  similai 
excellence, 

*  Fortes  creantur  fortibus  et  bonis,* 

and  that  amongst  the  artisans  one  average  level  of 
mediocrity  will  usually  prevail  ;  in  which  case,  the 
advantage  of  personal  training  to  the  art,  under  a 
domestic  tutor  who  never  leaves  him,  must  give  such 
a  bias  to  the  children  of  the  citizens  for  their  several 
pursuits,  as  will  justify  the  principle  of  hereditary  suc- 
cession. Still,  in  any  case  where  this  expectation  fails, 
a  door  is  constantly  kept  open  for  meeting  any  unusual 
indication  of  nature,  by  corresponding  changes  in  the 
destiny  of  the  young  people.  Nature,  therefore,  in 
t\ie  last  resort,  will  regulate  the  succession,  since  the 
law  interposes  no  further  than  in  confirmation  of  that 
order  in  the  succession  which  it  is  presumed  that  nature 
will  have  settled  by  clear  expressions  of  fitness.  But 
in  whatever  case  nature  indicates  determinately  some 
different  predisposition  in  the  individual,  then  the  law 
gives  way ;  for,  says  Plato,  with  emphasis,  '  the  para- 
mount object  in  my  commonwealth  is  —  that  every 
human  creature  should  find  his  proper  level,  and  everj 
man  settle  into  that  place  for  which  his  natural  quali- 
lies  have  fitted  him.' 


PLATO  S   KEPUBLIG.  461 


BOOK    THE    FOXTBTH. 

These  last  words  are  not  a  mere  flourisli  of  rhetoric. 
It  is,  according  to  Plato's  view,  the  very  distinguishing 
feature  in  his  polity,  that  each  man  occupies  his  own 
natural  place.  Accordingly,  it  is  the  business  of  this 
Book  to  favor  that  view  by  a  sort  of  fanciful  analogy 
between  what  we  in  modern  times  call  the  four  cardinal 
virtues,  and  the  four  capital  varieties  of  state  polity,  and 
also  between  these  virtues  and  the  constituent  order  ia 
ft  community.  This,  however,  may  be  looked  upon  aa 
no  step  in  advance  towards  the  development  of  his  own 
Republic,  but  rather  as  a  halt  for  the  purpose  of  look- 
ing back  upon  what  has  been  already  developed. 

The  cardinal  virtues,  as  we  see  them  adopted  nearly 
four  hundred  years  after  Plato  by  Cicero,  are  prudence, 
fortitude,  temperance  and  justice.  The  first  will  find 
its  illustration  according  to  Plato,  in  the  governing  pari 
of  a  state  ;  the  second  in  the  defending  part,  or  the 
military ;  the  third  in  the  relation  between  all  the  parts  ; 
but  the  fourth  has  its  essence  in  assigning  to  every 
individual,  and  to  every  order,  the  appropriate  right, 
whether  that  be  property,  duty,  function,  or  rank. 
Other  states,  therefore,  present  some  analogy  to  the 
t.iree  first  virtues,  according  to  the  predominant  object 
which  they  pursue.  But  his  own,  as  Plato  contends, 
is  a  model  analogous  to  the  very  highest  of  the  virtues, 
Dr  justice  ;  for  that  in  this  state  only  the  object  is  kept 
up,  as  a  transcendent  object,  of  suffering  no  man  to 
Msume  functions  by  mere  inheritance,  but  to  every 
mdividual  assigning  that  office  and  station  for  which 
nature  seems  to  have  prepared  his  qualifications. 

This  principle,  so  broadly  expressed,  would  seem  to 


462  Plato's  kepublic. 

require  more  frequent  disturbances  in  the  stries  of 
hereditary  employments  than  Plato  had  contemplated 
in  his  last  Book.  Accordingly,  he  again  acknowledges 
the  importance  of  vigilantly  reviewing  the  several  quali- 
fications of  the  citizens.  The  rest  of  the  Book  is  chiefly 
occupied  with  a  psychological  inquiry  into  a  problem 
sometimes  discussed  in  modern  times,  (but  thoroughly 
alien  to  the  political  problem  of  Plato ;)  viz.  whether, 
upon  dividing  the  internal  constitution  of  man  into 
three  elements  —  the  irascible  passions,  the  appetites 
of  desire,  and  the  rational  principle  —  we  are  warranted 
in  supposing  three  separate  substances  or  hypostases  in 
the  human  system,  or  merely  three  separate  offices  of 
some  common  substance :  whether,  in  short,  these 
differences  are  organic  or  simply  functional.  But,  be- 
sides that  the  discussion  is  both  obscure  and  conducted 
by  scholastic  hair-splitting,  it  has  too  slight  a  relation 
to  the  main  theme  before  us,  to  justify  our  digressing 
for  what  is  so  little  interesting. 

BOOK    THE    FIFTH. 

At  this  point  of  the  conversation,  Adeimantus,  at  the 
suggestion  of  another  person,  recalls  Socrates  to  the 
consideration  of  that  foul  blot  upon  his  theory  which 
concerns  the  matrimonial  connections  of  the  army. 
Not  only  were  these  to  commence  in  a  principle  of 
unmitigated  sensuality  —  selection  of  Avives  by  public, 
not  by  individual  choice,  and  with  a  single  reference 
*o  physical  qualities  of  strength,  size,  agility  —  but, 
wliich  riveted  the  brutal  tendencies  of  such  a  law,  the 
wives,  if  wives  they  could  be  called,  and  the  children 
that  might  arise  from  such  promiscuous  connections 
♦rere  to  be  held  the  common  property  of  the  ordnr 


Plato's  kepuulic.  463 

Ties  of  any  separate  kindness,  or  affection  for  this 
woman  or  for  that  child,  were  forbidden  as  a  specica 
of  treason  ;  and  if  (as  in  rare  cases  might  happen) 
after  all  they  should  arise,  the  parties  to  such  holy, 
but,  Platonically  speaking,  such  criminal  feelings,  must 
conceal  them  from  all  the  world  —  must  cherish  them 
as  a  secret  cancer  at  the  heart,  or  as  a  martyrdom  re- 
peated in  every  hour.  We  represent  mairiages  under 
the  beautiful  idea  of  unions.  But  these  Platonic  mar- 
riages would  be  the  foulest  dispersions  of  the  nuptial 
sanctities.  We  call  them  self-dedications  of  one 
human  creature  to  another,  through  the  one  sole  means 
by  which  nature  has  made  it  possible  for  any  exclusive 
dedication  to  be  effected.  But  these  Platonic  marriages 
would  be  a  daily  renovation  of  disloyalty,  revolt,  and 
mutual  abjuration.  We,  from  human  society,  transfer 
a  reflex  of  human  charities  upon  inferior  natures,  when 
we  see  the  roe-deer,  for  instance,  gathering  not  into 
herds  and  communities  like  their  larger  brethren,  the 
fallow-deer  or  the  gigantic  red-deer,  but  into  families 
—  two  parents  everywhere  followed  by  their  own 
fawns,  loving  and  beloved.  Plato,  from  the  brutal 
world,  and  from  that  aspect  of  the  brutal  world  in 
R'hich  it  is  most  brutal,  transfers  a  feature  of  savage 
gregariousness  which  would  ultimately  disorganize  as 
much  as  it  would  immediately  degrade.  In  fact,  the 
mere  feuds  of  jealousy,  frantic  hatred,  and  competi- 
tions cf  authority,  growing  out  of  such  an  institution, 
would  break  up  the  cohesion  of  Plato's  republic  within 
seven  years.  We  all  know  of  such  institutions  as 
%(:tually  realized  ;  one  case  of  former  ages  is  recorded 
by  Ceesar,  Strabo,  &c.  ;  another  ot  the  present  day 
^xiits   amongst   the  ranges  of  the  Himalaya,  and  ha* 


(104  Plato's  kepublic. 

been  brought  by  the  course  of  our  growing  empire 
within  British  control.  But  they  are,  and  have  been, 
connected  with  the  most  abject  condition  in  other 
respects  ;  and  probably  it  would  be  found,  if  such 
societies  were  not  merely  traversed  by  the  glasses  of 
philosophers  in  one  stage  of  their  existence,  but  steadily 
watched  through  a  succession  of  generations,  that  it  is 
their  very  necessity  rapidly  to  decay,  either  by  absorp- 
tion into  more  powerful  societies,  built  on  sounder 
principles,  or  by  inevitable  self-extinction.  Certain  it 
is,  that  a  society  so  constituted  through  all  its  orders, 
could  breed  no  conservative  or  renovating  impulses, 
since  all  motives  of  shame,  glory,  emulation,  would 
operate  upon  a  system  untuned,  or  pitched  in  a  far 
lower  key,  wherever  sexual  love  and  the  tenderness  of 
exclusive  preferences  were  forbidden  by  law. 

Adeimantus,  by  thus  calling  for  a  revision  of  a  prin- 
ciple so  revolting,  impersonates  to  the  reader  his  own 
feelings.  He,  like  the  young  Athenian,  is  anxious  to 
find  himself  in  sympathy  with  one  reputed  to  be  so 
great  a  philosopher  ;  or  at  least,  he  is  unwilling  to 
suppose  himself  so  immeasurably  removed  from  sym- 
pathy. Still  less  can  he  concede,  or  even  suspend,  his 
own  principles  in  a  point  which  does  not  concern 
taste,  or  refinement  of  feeling,  or  transitory  modes  of 
decorum,  or  even  the  deduction  of  logic  ;  in  all  these 
points,  however  rudely  shocked,  he  would,  in  modest 
submission  to  a  great  name,  have  consented  to  suppose 
himself  wrong.  But  this  scruple  belongs  to  no  such 
faculty  of  taste,  or  judgment,  or  reasoning;  it  belongs 
to  thij  primary  conscience.  It  belongs  to  a  region  in 
which  no  hypothetic  assumptions  for  the  sake  of  argu- 
lient,  no  provisional  concessions,  no  neutralizing  com 


Plato's  kepublic.  463 

promises,  are  ever  possible.  By  two  tests  is  man 
raxsed  above  the  brutes  ;  1st,  As  a  being  capable  of 
religion,  (whicb  presupposes  him  a  being  endowed 
with  reason;)  2dly,  As  a  being  capable  of  marriage. 
And  effectually  both  capacities  are  thus  far  defeated 
by  Plato  —  that  both  have  a  worm,  a  principle  of  cor- 
rosion, introduced  into  their  several  tenures.  He  does 
not,  indeed,  formally  destroy  religion  ;  he  supposes 
himself  even  to  purify  it ;  but  by  tearing  away  as 
impostures  those  legends  in  which,  for  a  pagan,  the 
effectual  truth  of  the  pagan  mythology,  as  a  revelation 
of  power,  had  its  origin  and  its  residence,  he  would 
have  shattered  it  as  an  agency  or  a  sanction  operating 
on  men's  oaths,  &c.  He  does  not  absolutely  abolish 
mairiage,  but  by  limiting  its  possibility,  (and  how  ? 
Under  two  restrictions,  the  most  insidious  that  can  be 
imEigined,  totally  abolishing  it  for  the  most  honored 
order  of  his  citizens,  viz.  —  the  military  order ;  and 
abolishing  it  for  those  men  and  women  whom  nature 
had  previously  most  adorned  \vith  her  external  gifts,) 
he  does  his  utmost  to  degrade  marriage,  even  so  far  as 
it  is  tolerated.  Whether  he  designed  it  or  not,  mar- 
riage is  now  no  longer  a  privilege,  a  reward,  a  decora- 
tion. On  the  contrary,  not  to  be  married,  is  a  silent 
proclamation  that  you  are  amongst  the  select  children 
of  the  state  —  honored  by  your  fellow-citizens  as  one 
of  their  defenders  —  admired  by  the  female  half  of  the 
society  as  dedicated  to  a  service  of  danger  —  marked 
*ut  universally  by  the  public  zeal  as  one  who  possesses 
b  physical  superiority  to  other  men  —  lastly,  pointed 
Dut  to  foreigners  for  dis'inction,  as  belonging  to  a 
privileged  class.  Ar(  you  married  ?  would  be  a 
question  from  which  every  man  travelling  abroad  v\  ould 

30 


466  Plato's  republic. 

sfthnk,  unless  lie  could  say  — No.  It  would  be  asking, 
in  effect  —  Are  you  of  the  in-ferior  classes,  a  subaltern 
commanded  by  others,  or  a  noble  ?  Ana  the  result 
would  be,  that,  like  poverty  (not  pauperism,  but  indi- 
gence or  scanty  means)  at  this  day,  marriage  would 
still  have  its  true,  peculiar  and  secret  blessings,  but, 
like  poverty  again,  it  would  not  flourish  in  the  world's 
esteem  ;  and,  like  that,  it  would  prompt  a  system  of 
efforts  and  of  opinions  tending  universally  in  the  very 
opposite  direction. 

Feeliug  —  but,  as  a  pagan,  feeling  not  very  pro- 
foundly —  these  truths,  Adeimantus  calls  for  explana- 
tions (secretly  expecting  modifications)  of  this  offen- 
sive doctrine.  Socrates,  however,  (that  is,  Plato,) 
offers  noue  but  such  as  are  re-affirmations  of  the 
doctrine  in  other  words,  and  with  some  little  expan- 
sion of  its  details.  The  women  selected  as  wives  in 
these  military  marriages,  are  to  be  partners  with  the 
men  in  martial  labors.  This  unsexual  distinction  will 
require  an  imsexual  training.  It  is,  therefore,  one 
derivative  law  in  Plato's  Republic,  that  a  certain 
proportion  of  the  young  girls  are  to  receive  a  mascu- 
line education,  not  merely  assimilated  to  that  of  the 
men,  but  by  personal  association  of  both  sexes  in  the 
same  palczstra,  identical  with  that,  and  going  on  con- 
ciirrently. 

To  this  there  are  two  objections  anticipated. 

Ist.  That,  as  the  gymnastic  exercises  of  the  an- 
cients were  performed  in  a  state  of  nudity,  (to  which 
feet,  combined  with  the  vast  variety  of  marbles  easilj 
veorked  by  Grecian  tools,  some  people  have  ascribeii 
flis   premature    excellence   in    Greece  of  the    plastic 


PLATO  S    KEPUBLIC.  467 

urts,)  such  a  personal  exposure  would  oe  very  trjing 
to  female  modesty,  and  revolting  to  masculine  sensi- 
bilities. Perhaps  no  one  passage  in  the  whole  works 
of  Plato  so  powerfully  reveals  his  visionary  state  of 
disregard  to  the  actual  in  human  nature,  and  his  con- 
tempt of  human  instincts,  as  this  horiible  transitior. 
(so  abrupt  and  so  total)  from  the  superstitious  resf!rve  * 
of  Grecian  society,  combined,  as  in  this  place  it  is, 
with  levity  so  perfect.  Plato  repudiates  this  scruple 
with  something  like  contempt.  He  contends  that  it 
is  all  custom  and  use  which  regulate  such  feelings, 
and  that  a  new  training  made  operative,  will  soon 
generate  a  new  standard  of  propriety.  Now,  with 
our  better  views  on  such  points,  a  plain  man  would 
tell  the  philosopher,  that  although  use,  no  doubt,  will 
reconcile  us  to  much,  still,  after  all,  a  better  and  a 
worse  in  such  things  does  exist,  previously  to  any 
use   at  all,  one  way  or  the  other  ;  and  that  it  is  the 

*  •  Superstitious  reserve  of  Greece.'  The  possibility,  however, 
of  this  Platonic  reverie  as  an  idealism,  together  with  the  known 
practice  of  Sparta  as  a  reality,  are  interesting  as  a  commentary 
on  the  real  tendencies  of  that  Oriental  seclusion  and  spurious 
delicacy  imposed  upon  women,  which  finally  died  away  in  the 
Roman  system  of  manners;  by  what  steps,  it  would  be  vei-y 
instructive  to  trace.  Meantime,  this  much  is  evident  —  that 
precisely  in  a  land  where  this  morbid  delicacy  was  enfoi'ced 
upon  women,  precisely  in  that  land  (the  only  one  in  such  cir- 
cumstances that  ever  reached  an  intellectual  civilization)  where 
vromen  were  abridged  in  their  liberty,  men  in  their  social  refine- 
ment, the  human  race  in  i*s  dignity,  by  the  false  requisitiona 
as  to  seclusion,  and  by  a  delicacy  spurious,  hollow,  and  sensual, 
precisely  there  the  other  extreme  was  possible,  of  forcing  upon 
women  the  most  profligate  exposure,  and  compelling  them, 
amidst  tears  and  shame,  to  trample  on  the  very  instincts  of 
female  dignity.  So  reconcilable  are  extremes,  when  the  eariiesi 
ixtreme  is  laid  in  the  unnatural. 


468  Plato's  republic. 

business  of  pliilosopiiy  to  ascertain  this  better  and 
worse,  per  se,  so  as  afterwards  to  apply  the  best 
gravitation  of  this  moral  agency,  called  custom,  in  h 
way  to  uphold  a  known  benefit,  not  to  waste  it  upon  a 
doubtful  one,  still  less  upon  one  which,  to  the  first 
guiding  sensibilities  of  man,  appears  dangerous  and 
shocking.  If,  hereafter,  in  these  martial  women, 
Plato  should,  under  any  dilemma,  have  to  rely  upon 
feminine  qualities  of  delicacy  or  tenderness,  he  might 
happen  to  find  that,  mth  the  characteristic  and  sexual 
qualities  of  his  women,  he  has  uprooted  all  the  rest  of 
their  distinguishing  graces  ;  that  for  a  single  purpose, 
arbitrary  even  in  his  system,  iie  had  sacrificed  a  power 
that  could  not  be  replaced.  All  this,  however,  is  dis- 
missed as  a  trivial  scruple. 

2dly.  There  is  another  scruple,  however,  which 
weighs  more  heavily  with  Plato,  and  receives  a  more 
pointed  answer.  The  objection  to  a  female  soldier  or 
a  gladiatrix  might  be  applied  on  a  far  different  prin- 
ciple —  not  to  what  seems,  but  to  what  actually  is  — 
not  by  moral  sentiment,  but  by  physiology.  Habit 
might  make  us  callous  to  the  spectacle  of  unfeminine 
exposures  ;  but  habit  cannot  create  qualities  of  mus- 
cular strength,  hardihood,  or  patient  endurance,  where 
nature  has  denied  them.  These  qualities  may  be 
improved,  certainly  in  women,  as  they  may  in  men ; 
but  still,  as  the  improved  woman  in  her  athletic  char- 
ficter  must  still  be  compared  with  the  improved  man^ 
the  scale,  the  proportions  of  diff'erence,  will  be  kepi 
at  the  old  level.  And  thus- the  old  prejudice — that* 
women  are  not  meant  (because  not  fitted  by  nature) 
for  warlike  tasks  —  will  revolve  upon  us  in  the  shapt 
of  8  philosophic  truth. 


Plato's  repitblic.  409 

To  a  certain  extent,  Plato  ir  directly  admits  this,  for 
(as  will  be  seen)  practically  he  allows  for  it  in  his 
subsequent  institutions.  But  he  restricts  the  piinciplp 
of  female  inaptitude  for  war  by  the  following  sugges 
tion  :  —  The  present  broad  distribution  of  the  human 
Bpecies,  according  to  which  courage  and  the  want  of 
courage  —  muscular  strength  and  weakness  —  are 
made  to  coincide  with  mere  sexual  distinctions,  he 
rejects  as  false  —  not  groundless  —  for  there  is  a 
perceptible  tendency  to  that  difference  —  but  still  false 
for  ordinary  purposes.  It  may  have  a  popular  truth. 
But  here,  when  the  question  is  about  philosophic  pos- 
sibilities and  extreme  ideals,  he  insists  upon  sub- 
stituting for  this  popular  generality  a  more  severe 
valuation  of  the  known  facte.  He  proposes,  there- 
fore, to  di\'ide  the  human  race  upon  another  principle. 
Men,  though  it  is  the  characteristic  tendency  of  their 
sex  to  be  courageous,  are  not  all  courageous  ;  men, 
though  sexually  it  is  their  tendency  to  be  strong,  are 
not  all  strong  :  many  are  so  ;  but  some,  in  the  other 
extreme,  are  both  timid  and  feeble  :  others,  again, 
present  us  with  a  compromise  between  both  extremes. 
By  a  parity  of  logic,  women,  though  sexually  and 
constitutionally  unwarlike,  pass  through  the  same 
graduated  range  ;  upon  which  scale,  the  middle  quali- 
ties in  them  may  answer  to  the  lower  qualities  in  the 
tither  sex  —  the  higher  to  the  middle.  It  is  possible, 
therefore,  to  make  a  selection  amongst  the  entire 
female  population,  of  such  as  are  fitted  to  take  their 
(ihare  in  garrison  duty,  in  the  duty  of  military  poste 
or  of  sentries,  ana  even,  to  a  certain  extent,  in  the 
extreme  labors  of  the  field.  Plato  countenances  the 
Belief  that,   allowing   for   the    difference   in  muscular 


470  Plato's  republic. 

power  of  women,  considered  as  animals,  (a  mere 
difference  of  degree,)  there  is  no  essential  difference, 
as  to  power  and  capacities,  between  the  human  male 
and  thd  female.  Considering  the  splendor  of  his 
name,  (weighty  we  cannot  call  a  man's  authority 
whom  so  few  profess  to  have  read,  but  imposing  at  the 
least,)  it  is  astonishing  that  in  the  agitation  stirred  by 
the  modern  brawlers,  from  Mary  Wollstonecraft  down- 
wards, in  behalf  of  female  pretensions  to  power,  no 
more  use  should  have  been  drawn  from  the  disinter- 
ested sanction  of  Plato  to  these  wild  innovations. 
However,  it  will  strike  many,  that  even  out  of  that 
one  inferiority  conceded  by  Plato,  taken  in  connection 
with  the  frequent  dependencies  of  wives  and  mothers 
upon  human  forbearance  and  human  aids,  in  a  way 
irreconcilable  with  war,  those  inferences  might  be 
forced  one  after  one,  which  would  soon  restore  (as  a 
direct  logical  consequence)  that  state  of  female  de- 
pendency, which  at  present  nature  and  providence  so 
beautifully  accomplish  through  the  gentlest  of  human 
feelings.  Even  Plato  is  obliged  in  practice  to  allow 
rather  more  on  account  of  his  one  sole  concession 
than  his  promises  would  have  warranted ;  for  he 
stipulates  that  these  young  gladiatrices  and  other  figu- 
rantes in  the  palcestra,  shall  not  be  put  upon  difficult 
or  dangeroiis  trials ;  living  in  our  day,  he  would  have 
introduced  into  H.  M.'s  navy  a  class  of  midship- 
women  ;  but  would  have  exempted  them,  we  presume, 
from  all  the  night  watches,  and  from  going  aloft 
This,  however,  might  have  been  mere  consideration 
for  the  tenderness  of  youth.  But  again,  in  mature 
life,  though  he  orders  that  the  wives  and  the  children 
•hall  march  with  the  armed  force  to  the  seat  of  thf 


PLATO  S    REPUBLIC.  471 

sampaign,  and  on  the  day  of  battle  shall  make  their 
jppearance  in  the  rear,  (an  unpleasant  arrangemeni 
m  our  day  of  flying  artillery  and  rocket  brigade,)  he 
Joes  not  insist  on  their  mixing  in  the  melee.  Their 
influence  with  the  fighting  division  of  the  army,  is  to 
lie  in  their  visible  presence.  But  surely  at  this  point, 
Piato  overlooked  the  elaborate  depression  of  that  influ- 
ence which  his  own  system  had  been  nursing.  Per- 
sonal presence  of  near  female  relations,  whether  in 
Btorms  at  sea,  or  in  battles,  has  always  been  supposed 
to  work  more  mischief  by  distracting  the  commander's 
attention,  than  good  by  reminding  him  of  his  domestic 
ties.  And  since  the  loss  of  an  East  Indiaman,  (the 
Halsewell,)  about  sixty  years  ago,  in  part  ascribed  to 
the  presence  of  the  captain's  daughter,  the  rules  of 
the  British  service,  we  believe,  have  circumscribed  the 
possibility  of  such  very  doubtful  influences.  But,  in 
Plato's  Republic,  the  influences  must  have  been  much 
more  equivocal.  A  number  of  women  and  a  number 
of  children  are  supposed  to  be  ranged  on  an  eminence 
in  the  background.  The  women  were  undoubtedly, 
or  had  been,  mothers  :  but  to  which  of  the  children 
individually,  and  whether  to  any  living  child,  was 
beyond  their  power  to  guess.  Giving  the  fact  thet 
any  child  to  which,  in  former  years,  they  might  give 
birth,  were  still  in  existence,  then  probably  that  child 
would  be  found  amongst  the  yourf^  column  of  battle- 
gazers  on  the  ground.  But,  as  to  the  men,  even  thij. 
conditional  knowledge  is  impossible.*'  Multiplied  pre- 
c.iiitions  have  been  taken,  that  it  way  oe  impossible. 
From  the  moment  of  birth  the  child  has  been  removed 
k)  an  establishment  where  the  sternest  measures  are 
inforced  to  confound  it  beyond  all  power  of  rcccgni- 


472  Plato's  eepublic. 

lion  with  the  crowd  of  previous  children.  The  object 
is  to  place  a  bar  between  this  recognition  and  every- 
body ;  the  mother  and  all  others  alike.  Can  a  cup  of 
water  be  recovered  when  poured  off  into  the  Danube? 
Equally  impossible,  if  Plato's  intentions  are  fulfilled, 
to  recover  traces  of  identification  with  respect  to  any 
one  of  the  public  children.  The  public  family,  there- 
fore, of  wives  and  children  are  present,  but  with  what 
Drobable  result  upon  the  sensibilities  of  the  men,  we 
leave  the  reader  to  determine,  when  we  have  put  him 
in  possession  of  Plato's  motive  to  all  this  unnatural 
interference  with  human  affections.  Why  had  he 
from  the  first  applied  so  large  a  body  of  power 
(wasted  power,  if  not  requisite)  to  the  suppression  of 
what  most  legislators  would  look  to  for  their  highest 
resources  ?  It  seems  bad  mechanics  —  to  convert 
that  into  a  resistance,  requiring  vast  expense  of  engi- 
neering to  overcome  it,  which  might  obviously  have 
Deen  treated  as  a  power  of  the  first  magnitude  for 
overcoming  other  and  inevitable  resistance.  Strong 
reasons  must  be  brought  for  such  an  inversion  of  the 
ordinary  procedure.  "What  are  they  in  Plato's  sys- 
tem ?  Simply  this  —  that  from  individual  marriages 
and  separate  children,  not  only  many  feuds  arise 
between  man  and  man,  family  and  family  ;  a  private 
interest  is  established  as  against  other  private  inter- 
ests ,•  but  also  a  private  parental  interest  is  established 
m  another  sense,  namely,  against  the  public ;  a  paren- 
tal or  family  interest,  difiering  from  the  public  state 
•nterest.  and  often  enough  in  mortal  hostility  to  that 
interest. 

IJe  it  90  :   a  danger,  a  pressure,  is  exposed  by  Plate 
m  one  direction  —  confronted  by  what  we  Chris  jam 


PLATO  S    REPUBLIC. 


473 


mould  think  a  far  heavier  in  another ;  or,  to  expreaa  It 
more  strictly,  a  gain  is  sought  in  one  direction  — 
which  gain  seems  to  us  fatally  compensated  by  loss  in 
Buother.  But  that  is  part  of  Plato's  theory  —  that  he 
confronts  with  his  eyes  open  —  and  we  are  not  to  op- 
pose them  in  mere  logic,  because  it  is  one  of  the  pos- 
tulates in  effect  on  which  his  system  rests.  But  we 
havft  a  right  to  demand  consistency  :  and,  when  Plate 
brings  the  wives  and  children  on  the  field  of  battle  :zi 
order  to  sustain  the  general  sentiment  of  patriotism,  he 
is  virtually  depending  upon  that  power  which  he  had 
previously  renounced  ;  he  is  throwing  the  weight  of  his 
reliaDce  upon  a  providential  arrangement  which  he  had 
tossed  aside  not  as  useless  merely,  but  as  vicious  ;  he 
is  clinging  in  his  distress  to  those  sanctities,  conjugal 
and  parental,  of  which  he  had  said  in  his  self-confi- 
dence—  'Behold!  I  will  give  you  something  better.' 
And  tolerably  sure  we  are,  that,  had  Plato  prosecuted 
the  details  of  his  theory  into  more  of  their  circumstan- 
tialities,  or  had  he  been  placed  under  the  torture  of  a 
close  polemic  review,  he  would  have  been  found  reviv- 
ing for  its  uses,  and  for  its  solution  of  many  perplexi- 
ties in  practice,  that  very  basis  of  female  honor  and 
modesty,  which  by  his  practice  and  by  his  professions 
he  has  so  labored  earnestly  to  destroy. 

The  reader  will  arrive  probably  at  a  pretty  fixed 
opinion  as  to  the  service  for  state  purposes  likely  to 
arise  from  this  exhibition  of  a  clamorous  nursery,  chil- 
dren and  nurses,  upon  the  field  of  battle.  As  a  flag, 
banner,  or  ensign,  if  Pla'o  coula  in  any  way  contrive 
that  the  army  should  regard  the  nursery  militant  as  the 
Bacred  depository  of  their  martial  honor,  then  it  is 
.  probable    that  men   would  fight   desperately  for  tha) 


PLATO  S    REPUBLIC. 

considered  as  a  trophy,  wliich  they  regarded  but  lightly 
as  a  household  memorial.  But  this  would  be  unattain- 
able. Even  with  us,  and  our  profounder  Christian 
feelings,  the  women  attendant  upon  an  army  (who,  in 
the  Thirty  Years'  War,  on  the  Catholic  side  often 
amounted  to  another  army)  have  never  been  elevated 
into  a  '  pignus  sanctum  militiae.'  The  privates  and 
subaltern  officers  might  readily  have  come  into  such  a 
view  ;  but  the  commander-in-chief  with  his  staff  would 
have  set  their  faces  against  so  dangerous  a  principle  — 
it  would  have  fettered  the  movements  of  an  army  too 
much ;  and  in  most  cases  would  defeat  any  sudden 
manoeuvres  in  the  presence  of  an  enemy.  Mere  jus- 
tice to  human  powers  demands  that  the  point  of  honor 
for  armies,  or  for  sections  of  armies,  (such  as  regi- 
ments, &c.)  should  be  placed  in  that  which  can  move 
concurrently  with  the  main  body,  no  matter  for  roads, 
weather,  want  of  provisions,  or  any  other  circum- 
stances. Even  artillery,  therefore,  though  a  subject  of 
martial  jealousy,  is  not  made  absolutely  coincident  with 
the  point  of  martial  honor.  And  another  consideration 
is  this — that  not  only  no  object  ever  can  be  raised 
into  that  mode  of  dignity  when  all  members  of  the 
army  are  not  parties  to  the  consecration,  but  even  the 
enemy  must  be  a  party  to  this  act.  Accordingly,  the 
lanctity  of  the  flag,  as  the  national  honor  in  a  sym- 
bolic form  confided  to  a  particular  regiment,  is  an 
inheritance  transmitted  downwards  through  many 
generations  of  every  nation  in  Christendom.  Now, 
if  Plato's  republic  were  even  able  to  translate  the  point 
•ttf  honor  (which  for  the  Greeks  consisted  in  a  ritual 
celebration  of  the  battle  by  sacrifices,  together  with  • 
choral  chant,  and  also  in  the  right  to  erect  a  frail  m^ 


Plato's  republic  475 

tnonal  of  the  victory*)  to  the  capture  or  preservation 
of  the  women  and  children,  —  still  this  change  could 
not  be  accomplished  ;  for  the  neighboring  states  would 
not  be  persuaded  to  terms  of  '  reciprocity,'  as  the 
modern  economists  phrase  it.  What !  not  if  they  also 
were  Platonic  states  ?  Ay,  but  that  is  impossible  ;  for 
Plato  himself  lays  the  foundation  of  hope,  and  the 
prospect  of  conquest,  for  his  own  state,  in  the  weak- 
ness (growing  out  of  luxury,  together  with  the  conju- 
gal and  parental  relations)  presumable  throughout  the 
neighboring  states. 

These  ambulatory  nurseries,  therefore,  never  could 
be  made  to  interest  the  honor  even  of  a  Platonic  army, 
since  no  man  would  consent  to  embark  his  own  honor 
upon  a  stake  to  which  the  enemy  afforded  no  corres- 
ponding stake :  always  to  expose  your  own  honor  to 
loss  with  no  reversionary  gain  under  any  contingency ; 
always  to  suffer  anxiety  in  your  own  person  with  no 
possibility  of  retaliating  this  anxiety  upon  the  enemy 
—  would  have  been  too  much  for  the  temper  of  Socra- 
tes ;  and  we  fear  that  he  would  have  left  even  Xan- 
tippe  herself,  with  all  her  utensils  of  every  kind,  as  a 
derelict  for  the  benefit  of  the  enemy  in  dry  weather, 
fvhen  a  deluge  from  upper  windows  might  not  have 
been  unwelcome.     But  if  no  honor  were  pledged  upon 

*  ♦  Frail,'  not  from  any  indisposition  to  gasconade  :  but  tliere 
Wis  a  dark  superstition  which  frightened  the  Greeks  from 
raising  any  durable  monuments  to  a  triumph  over  Greeks  : 
judicial  calamities  would  descend  upon  the  victors,  A''emesis 
would  be  upon  their  haunches,  if  they  exulted  too  loudly. 
Ptone,  therefore,  marble,  and  brass,  were  forbidden  materials 
for  the  troptta !  they  were  anvays  made  of  wood.  If  not»  look 
out  for  sijualls  ahead  ! 


476  Plato's  KiiPUBLic. 

the  narseiy  in  the  rear,  the  next  step  would  certainly 
be,  that  under  difficult  circumstances,  stress  of  weather, 
short  provisions,  or  active  light  cavalry  in  the  rear,  the 
n^arsery  would  become  the  capital  nuisance  of  the 
army.  Ambulatory  hospitals,  though  so  evidently 
personal  interest  of  the  nearest  kind,  are  trying 
to  soldiers  when  overworked ;  but  ambulatory  nurse- 
ries, with  no  intelligible  motive  for  their  presence, 
continual  detachments  and  extra  guards  on  their 
axscount,  with  an  enemy  laughing  at  the  nursery  up- 
roars, would  cause  a  mutiny  if  Plato  were  there  in 
person.  Sentiment  but  ill  accords  with  the  gross  real- 
ities of  business,  as  Charles  Lamb  illustrated  (rather 
beyond  the  truth  in  that  case)  with  regard  to  Lord 
Camelford's  corpse,  when  clearing  the  custom-house 
for  interment  under  an  aged  tree  in  Switzerland  ;  and 
to  hawk  along  with  an  army  a  menagerie  of  spectators, 
against  a  day  of  battle,  would  be  an  arrangement  so 
little  applicable  to  any  but  select  expeditions,  that  the 
general  overturn  of  caravans  once  a  day,  and  the  con- 
tinual fracture  of  skulls,  would  be  the  least  tragical 
issue  within  reasonable  expectation.  Not  being 
'  sacied,'  as  the  depositaries  of  honor,  they  would  soon 
become  '  profane.'  And  speaking  gravely,  when  we 
reflect  on  the  frequency,  even  in  Christian  lands,  with 
which,  under  the  trials  of  extreme  poverty,  the  parental 
tie  gives  way  —  what  other  result  than  open  insubordi- 
nation could  be  expected  from  a  plan  which  was 
adapted  to  a  mere  melodramatic  effect,  at  the  price  of 
universal  comfort  for  months  ?  Not  being  associated 
with  patriotic  honor,  as  we  have  endeavored  to  show 
ind  the  parental  tie  being  so  aerial  in  any  case  where 
ueither  mother  nor  child  belonged  to  the  individual. 


PLATO  S    REPUBLIC. 


477 


but  also  so  exceedingly  questionable  in  tlie  case  of 
Plato's  artifices  for  concealment  having  succeeded  to 
tlie  lettei  —  what  visionary  statesmanship  would  it 
prove  to  build  for  so  much  as  a  day's  service,  or  for 
an  extra  effort,  upon  the  pretence  of  those  who  could 
have  little  othei  value  in  the  soldier's  eye  than  that 
they  were  natives  of  the  same  city  with  himself ! 

Even  this,  however,  is  not  the  worst :  pursuing  to 
the  last  *Le  regulations  of  Plato,  the  reader  is  more  and 
more  surprised  by  the  unconscious  inconsistency  which 
emerges :  for  whilst  recollecting  the  weight  of  service 
—  the  stress  which  Plato  has  thrown  upon  the  parental 
affection  in  this  case  —  he  finds  still  farther  proof  of 
the  excessive  degradation  to  which  Plato  has  reduced 
the  rank  of  that  affection  as  a  moral  principle  :  in 
short,  he  finds  him  loading  it  with  responsibility  as  a 
duty,  whilst  he  is  destroying  it  as  an  honor,  and  pol- 
luting it  as  an  elevated  enjoyment.  Let  us  follow  the 
regulations  to  their  end  :  —  The  guardians  of  the  state, 
as  they  are  called  in  their  civil  relation,  the  soldiers, 
as  they  are  called  with  respect  to  foreign  states  and  to 
enemies  in  general,  have  been  originally  selected  for 
their  superior  qualities  of  body.  Thus  the  most  natural 
(because  the  most  obvious)  grounds  of  personal  vanity, 
4re  bore  at  once  concentrated  by  state  preference  and 
j^-eculiar  rank.  In  civilized  states,  these  advantages 
being  met  and  thwarted  at  every  turning  by  so  many 
liigher  modes  of  personal  distinction  —  knowledge, 
special  accomplishments  applicable  to  special  difficul- 
ties, intellect  generally,  experience  large  and  com- 
prehensive, or  local  and  peculiar  —  riches,  popular 
influence,  high  birth,  splendid  connections  ;  the  con- 
sequence is,  that  mere  physical  advantages  rank  as  the 


478  PLATO  S    EEPUBLIC. 

lowest  class  of  pretensions,  and  practically  are  not  of 
much  avail,  except  as  regards  beauty  when  eminent 
in  women,  though  even  for  that  the  sphere  is  narrow  • 
since  what  woman,  by  mere  beauty,  ever  drew  after 
her  such  a  train  of  admirers  as  a  few  of  our  modem 
female  writers  in  verse  ?  Consequently  the  arrogance 
in  these  soldiers  of  Plato,  finding  themselves  at  once 
ncknowledged  as  the  best  models  of  physical  excel- 
lence in  the  state,  and  also,  in  the  second  place,  raised 
to  the  rank  of  an  aristocracy  on  account  of  this  excel- 
lence, would  be  unlimited.  It  would  be  crossed  by  no 
other  mode  of  excellence  —  since  no  other  would  be 
recognized  and  countenanced  by  the  state. 

With  this  view  of  their  own  vast  superiority,  natur- 
ally —  and  excusably  in  a  state  conformed  to  that 
mode  of  thinking  —  looking  upon  their  own  rank  as  a 
mere  concession  of  justice  to  their  claims  of  birth,  the 
soldiers  would  review  their  condition  in  other  respects. 
They  would  then  find  that,  under  the  Platonic  laws, 
they  enjoyed  two  advantages  :  viz.  first,  a  harem  fui- 
nished  with  the  select  females  of  the  state,  having  pre- 
cisely the  sort  of  personal  pre-eminence  corresponding 
to  their  own ;  a  modern  Mahometan  polygamy,  in  fact, 
out  without  the  appropriation  which  constitutes  the 
his  ury  of  Mahometan  principles ;  secondly,  a  general 
pre  :!edency.  On  the  other  hand,  to  balance  these  privi- 
leges, and  even  with  the  most  dissolute  men  greatly  to 
outweigh  them,  they  would  find  — 

1 .  That  they  had,  and  could  have,  no  property  ;  not 
B  fragment :  even  their  arms  would  be  the  property  of 
the  state ;  even  the  dress  of  mail,  in  which  the  oTriTrat 
or  men-at-arms,  (heavy-armed  cuirassiers,  or  cata- 
pKrsctoi,)    must    be    arrayed,    would    return    to    the 


Plato's  bepublic.  479 

j/7^o('i,/ri,,  3r  arsenal,  in  time  of  peace  :  not  a  chattel, 
article  cf  furniture,  or  personal  ornament,  but  would 
have  a  public  stamp  as  it  were,  upon  it,  making  it  fel- 
ony to  sell,  or  give,  or  exchange  it.  It  is  true  that,  to 
reconcile  the  honorable  men,  the  worshipful  paupers, 
to  this  austere  system,  Plato  tells  us  —  that  the  other 
orders  of  citizens  will  not  be  rich  :  nobody,  in  fact,  will 
be  allowed  to  possess  any  great  wealth.  But  there  ia 
still  a  difference  between  something  and  nothing.  And 
then,  as  to  this  supposed  maximum  of  riches  which  is  to 
be  adopted,  no  specific  arrangements  are  shown,  by 
which,  in  consistency  with  any  freedom  of  action, 
further  accumulation  can  be  intercepted,  or  actual  pos- 
session ascertained. 

2.  '  But,'  says  Plato,  '  what  would  the  fellows  want 
with  property  ?  Food,  is  it  ?  Have  they  not  that  food 
at  the  public  cost ;  and  better  for  their  health  than  any 
which  they  would  choose  ?  Drink  —  is  there  not  the 
liver  ?  And  if  by  ill  luck  it  should  happen  to  be  a 
<(€t/>idppovs,  rather  dependent  upon  winter  floods  and 
upon  snows  melting  in  early  summer,  is  there  not  the 
rain  at  all  times  in  cisterns  and  tanks,  for  those  who 
prefer  it?  Shoemakers  and  weavers  —  (if  it  is  shoea 
and  tunics  they  want)  —  are  they  not  working  through- 
out the  year  for  their  benefit  ?  '  —  All  this  is  true  :  but 
still  they  are  awai-e  that  their  own  labors  and  hardships 
u-ould  earn  food  and  clothes  upon  regular  wages  :  and 
that,  on  the  general  scale  of  remuneration  for  merce- 
nary soldiership   in   Greece,    adding    their   dangers   to 

heir  daily  work,  they  might  obtain  enough  to  purclmso 
even  such  immoral  superfluities  as  wine. 

3.  At  present,  again,  this  honored  class  have  many 
Vives ;    none   of   their   fellow-citizens  more   than  one. 


«80  I'LATO'S    REPUBLIC. 

Bat  here,  again,  what  a  mockery  of  tlie  truth  !  thai 
Due  is  really  and  exclusively  the  wife  of  him  whom 
she  has  married ;  dedicates  her  love  and  attentions  and 
her  confidential  secrecy  to  that  man  only  ;  knows  and 
retains  her  own  children  in  her  own  keeping  ;  and 
these  children  regard  their  own  parents  as  their  owr, 
sole  benefactors.  How  gladly  would  the  majority  of 
the  guardians,  after  two  years'  experience  of  the  disso- 
lute barrack,  accept  in  exchange  the  quiet  privacy  of 
the  artisan's  cottage  ! 

4.  The  soldiers  again,  it  is  urged,  enjoy  something 
of  that  which  sweetens  a  sailor's  life,  and  keeps  it 
from  homely  insipidity  —  viz.  the  prospect  of  adven- 
ture, and  of  foreign  excursions  :  even  danger  is  a 
mode  of  stimulation.  But  how  ?  Under  what  restric- 
tion do  they  enjoy  these  prospects  of  peril  and  adven- 
ture ?  Never  but  on  a  service  of  peculiar  hardship. 
For  it  is  a  badge  of  their  slavery  to  public  uses,  that 
for  them  only  there  exists  no  liberty  of  foreign  travel. 
Ail  the  rest  throughout  the  city,  may  visit  foreign 
lands  ;  the  honorable  class  only  is  confined  to  the 
heartless  tumult  of  its  dissolute  barracks. 

Plato  evidently  felt  these  bitter  limitations  of  free 
affoncy  to  be,  at  the  same  time,  oppressive  and  de- 
grading. Still  he  did  not  think  himself  at  libeity  to 
relax  them.  His  theory  he  conceived  to  be  a  sort  of 
watch- work,  which  would  keep  moving  if  all  the  parts 
were  Icept  in  their  places,  but  would  stop  on  any  dis- 
t'lrbance  of  their  relations.  Not  1  eing  able  to  give 
any  relief,  the  next  thing  was  —  to  find  compensation. 
And  accordingly,  in  addition  to  the  sensual  bait  of 
polygamy  already  introduced  as  the  basis  of  his  j.lan, 
he  now  proceeds  to  give  a  stUl  wider  license  to  app© 
Vite.     It  takes  the  shape  of  a  dispensation  in  practice, 


PLAIO'S    REPUBLIC.  481 

from  a  previous  special  restriction  in  one  particular 
direction  :  the  whole  body  of  guardians  and  their  fe- 
Jnale  associates,  or  '  wives,'  are  excluded  from  conju- 
gal intercourse  except  within  strict  limits  as  to  age  ; 
from  the  age  of  twenty  to  forty  for  the  women,  of 
thirty  to  fifty  for  the  men,  is  the  range  within  which 
they  are  supposed  to  be  capable  of  producing  a  healthy 
race  of  children.  Within  those  limits  they  are  li- 
censed :  not  further.  But,  by  way  of  compensation, 
unlimited  concubinage  is  tolerated  for  the  seniors ; 
with  this  one  dreadful  proviso  —  that  any  children  bom 
from  such  connections,  as  presumably  not  possessing 
the  physical  stamina,  or  other  personal  advantages 
looked  for  from  more  carefully  selected  parents,  must 
be  exposed.  Born  of  fathers  who  possess  no  personal 
property,  these  children  could  have  no  patrimony ;  nor 
succeed  to  any  place  as  a  tradesman,  artisan,  or  la- 
borer. Succeeding  to  a  state  father,  they  succeed  to 
nothing  ;  they  are  thrown  as  waifs  or  strays  on  ttie 
state  bounty  :  and  for  that  they  are  not  eligible,  as  not 
having  been  born  within  the  privilege  of  the  state  reg- 
ulations. No  party,  therefore,  known  to  the  state 
being  responsible  for  their  maintenance,  they  must  die. 
And  because  the  ancients  had  a  scruple,  (no  scruple  of 
mercy,  but  of  selfish  superstition,)  as  to  taking  the  life 
by  violence  from  any  creature  not  condemned  under 
some  law,  the  mode  of  death  must  be  by  exposure  on 
the  opeu  hills  ;   when  either  the  night  air,  or  the  fangs 

f  a  wolf,  oftentimes  of  the  great  dogs,  still  preserved 
vn  many  parts  of  Greece,  usuallj  put  an  end  to  the 
unoffending  creature's  life. 

Now,  witli   this  sensual   bounty  on  infanticide,  and 
this  regular  machinery  for  calling  into  existence  such 

31 


1:82  PLATO  S    BiPUBLIC. 

■al-fated  blossoms  on  the  tree  of  life,  and  for  immedi- 
ately strewing  tliem  on  the  ground  by  the  icy  wind  of 
death,  cutting  adrift  the  little  boat  to  go  down  the 
Niagara  of  violent  death,  in  the  very  next  night  aftcf 
its  launching  on  its  unknown  river  of  life  —  could 
Plato  misconceive  the  result  ?  could  he  wish  to  mis- 
conceive it,  as  regarded  the  pieties  of  parental  love  ? 
To  make  human  life  cheaper  and  more  valueless  than 
that  of  the  brutes  —  is  that  the  way  to  cherish  the  sanc- 
tity of  parental  affection  ;  upon  which  affection,  how- 
ever, elsewhere,  Plato  throws  so  heavy  a  burden  of 
duty  ? 

Plato  would  have  been  surprised,  had  he  anticipated 
the  discoveries  of  modern  experience  as  to  the  effect 
of  mairiages  so  assorted  in  point  of  age  as  he  has  sup- 
posed. This  one  arrangement,  by  mere  disproportion 
of  the  sexes,  would  have  introduced  strange  disturb- 
ances into  his  system.  But  for  general  purpose,  it  is 
more  important  to  remark  —  that  the  very  indulgences 
of  Plato  are  sensual :  from  a  system  in  itself  sensual 
in  the  most  cruel  degree,  Plato  grauts  a  dispensation 
only  to  effect  a  Otaheitian  carnival  of  licentious  appe- 
tite, connected  with  a  contempt  of  human  life,  which 
is  excessive  even  for  paganism  ;  since  in  that  the  ex- 
j^K)Sure  of  children  is  allowed  as  a  relief  from  supposed 
evils  of  nature  ;  or  (as  we  now  *  see  in  Oude,  and  here- 
tofore in  Cutch)  was  practised  by  way  of  relief  from 
what  were  regarded  as  social  evils,  viz.,  the  necessity, 
in  the  absence  of  infanticide,  which  arose  for  giving 
daughters  in  marriage  to  men  that  were  their  inferiors 
in  bir^h ;  whereas  here,  under  the  system  of  Plato,  the 
che  evil  is  self-created  by  the  cruel  and  merciless  phU 
osopher  with  the  view  of  meeting  and  counteracting 
minous  results  which  nobody  had  caused  but  himself. 
*  [Written  duriDj;  the  Indian  revolt  ] 


DINNER,  REAL,  AND  REPUTED. 

Greai  misconceptions  have  always  prevailed  about 
the  Roman  dinner.  Dinner  \^ccp.?ia]  was  the  only  meal 
which  the  Romans  as  a  nation  took.  It  was  no  acci- 
dent, but  arose  out  of  their  whole  social  economy. 
This  I  shall  endeavor  to  show,  by  running  through  the 
history  of  a  Roman  day.  Ridentem  dicere  verum  quid 
httat  ?  And  the  course  of  this  review  will  expose  one 
or  two  important  truths  in  ancient  political  economy, 
which  have  been  too  much  overlooked. 

"With  the  lark  it  was  that  the  Roman  rose.  Not 
that  the  earliest  lark  rises  so  early  in  Latium  as  the 
earliest  lark  in  England  ;  that,  is,  during  summer :  but 
then,  on  the  other  hand,  neither  does  it  ever  rise  so 
late.  The  Roman  citizen  was  stirring  with  the  dawn 
—  which,  allowing  for  the  shorter  longest-day  and 
longer  shortest-day  of  Rome,  you  may  call  about  four 
in  summer  —  about  seven  in  winter.  Why  did  he  do 
this  ?  Because  he  went  to  bed  at  a  very  early  hour. 
But  why  did  he  do  that?  By  backing  in  this  way. 
We  shall  surely  back  into  the  very  well  of  truth  :  al- 
ways, where  it  is  possible,  let  us  have  the  pourquoi  ol 
the  pourquoi.  The  Roman  went  to  bed  early  for  two 
•emarkable  reasons.  1st,  Because  in  Rome,  built  for 
I  martial  destiny,  every  habit  of  life  nad  reference  to 


484  DINNER,  KEAI,,  AND    KEPUTED. 

the  usages  of  war.  Every  citizen,  if  he  were  not  a 
mere  proletarian  animal  kept  at  the  public  cost,  with  a 
view  to  his  proles  or  offspring,  held  himself  a  soldier- 
elect  :  the  more  noble  he  was,  the  more  was  bis  lia- 
bility to  military  service  ;  in  short,  all  Rome,  and  at 
all  times,  was  consciously  '  in  procinct.'*'  Now  it  waf 
a  principle  of  ancient  warfare,  that  every  hour  of  day- 
light had  a  triple  worth,  as  valued  against  hours  of 
darkness.  That  was  one  reason  —  a  reason  suggested 
by  the  understanding.  But  there  was  a  second  reason 
far  moi-e  remarkable  ;  and  this  was  a  reason  suggested 
by  a  blind  necessity.  It  is  an  important  fact,  that  this 
planet  on  which  we  live,  this  little  industrious  earth  of 
ours,  has  developed  her  wealth  by  slow  stages  of  in- 
crease. She  was  far  from  being  the  rich  little  globe  in 
Caesar's  days  that  she  is  at  present.  The  earth  in  our 
days  is  incalculably  richer,  as  a  whole,  than  in  the 
time  of  Charlemagne  ;  and  at  that  time  she  was  richer, 
by  many  a  million  of  acres,  than  in  the  era  of  Augus- 
tus. In  that  Augustan  era  we  descry  a  clear  belt  of 
cultivation,  averaging  perhaps  six  hundred  miles  in 
depth,  running  in  a  ring-fence  about  the  Mediterra- 
nean, This  belt,  and  no  more,  was  in  decent  cultiva- 
tion. Beyond  that  belt,  there  was  only  a  mid  Indian 
cultivation  ;  generally  not  so  much.  At  present,  what 
a  difference  !  We  have  that  very  belt,  but  much  rich- 
er, all  things  considered,  cequatis  cequandis,  than  in  the 
Roman  era  and  much  beside.  The  reader  must  not 
look  to  single  cases,  as  that  of  Egypt  or  other  parts  of 
Africa,  but  take  the  whole  collectively.  On  that 
icheme  of  valuation,  we  have  the  old  Roman  belt,  the 
circum  Mediterranean  girdle  not  much  tarnished,  and 
We  have  all  the  rest  of  Europe  to  boot.     Such  being 


CTNNEB,  KEAI,,  AND  KEPUTED.         485 

Jbe  case,  the  earth,  being  (as  a  whole)  in  that  Pagac 
era  so  incomparably  poorer,  could  not  in  the  Pagan 
era  support  the  expense  of  maintaining  great  empirea 
in  cold  latitudes.  Her  purse  would  not  reach  that 
cost.  Wherever  she  undertook  in  those  early  ages  to 
t  ear  man  in  great  abundance,  it  must  be  where  natui'e 
would  consent  to  work  in  partnership  with  herself; 
where  warmth  was  to  be  had  for  nothing ;  where 
clothes  were  not  so  entirely  indispensable,  but  that  a 
ragged  fellow  might  still  keep  himself  warm ;  where 
slight  shelter  might  serve ;  and  where  the  soil,  if  not 
absolutely  richer  in  reversionary  wealth,  was  more 
easily  cultured.  Nature,  in  those  days  of  infancy, 
must  come  forward  liberally,  and  take  a  number  of 
shares  in  every  new  joint-stock  concern  before  it  could 
move.  Man,  therefore,  went  to  bed  early  in  those 
ages,  simply  because  his  worthy  mother  earth  could  not 
afford  him  candles.  She,  good  old  lady  (or  good 
young  lady,  for  geologists  know  not*^  whether  she  is 
in  that  stage  of  her  progress  which  corresponds  to 
gray  hairs,  or  to  infancy,  or  to  '  a  certain  age  ')  —  she, 
good  lady,  would  certainly  have  shuddered  to  hear  any 
of  her  nations  asking  for  candles.  '  Candles,  indeed  ! ' 
she  would  have  said, '  who  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing  ? 
and  with  so  much  excellent  daylight  running  to  waste, 
as  I  have  provided  gratis  !  What  will  the  wretches 
want  next  ?  ' 

The  daylight,  furnished  gratis,  was  certainly  '  unde- 
niable '  in  its  quality,  and  quite  sufficient  for  all  pur- 
poses that  were  honest.  Seneca,  even  in  his  own 
luxurious  period,  called  those  men  '  lucifugce,^  and  by 
»ther  ugly  names,  who  lived  chiefly  by  candle-light 
None  but  rich  and  Luxunous  men,  nay,  even  amongst 


486  DINNER,   BEAL,  AND    REIUTED. 

these,  none  btit  idlers,  did  live  or  could  live  by  candle" 
liglit.  An  immense  majority  of  men  in  Rome  nevei 
lighted  a  candle,  unless  sometimes  in  the  early  dawn. 
And  this  custom  of  Rome  was  the  custom  also  of  ali 
nations  that  lived  round  the  great  lake  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean. In  Athens,  Egypt,  Palestine,  Asia  Minor 
everywhere,  the  ancients  went  to  bed,  like  good  boys, 
from  seven  to  nine  o'clock.^  The  Turks  and  other 
people,  who  have  succeeded  to  the  stations  and  the 
habits  of  the  ancients,  do  so  at  this  day. 

The  Roman,  therefore,  who  saw  no  joke  in  sitting 
round  a  table  in  the  dark,  went  off  to  bed  as  the  dark- 
ness began.  Everybody  did  so.  Old  Numa  Pom- 
pilius  himself  was  obliged  to  trundle  off  in  the  dusk. 
Tarquinius  might  be  a  very  superb  fellow ;  but  I  doubt 
whether  he  ever  saw  a  farthing  rushlight.  And, 
though  it  may  be  thought  that  plots  and  conspiracies 
would  flourish  in  such  a  city  of  darkness,  it  is  to  be 
considered,  that  the  conspirators  themselves  had  no  more 
candles  than  honest  men  :  both  parties  were  in  the  dark. 

Being  up,  then,  and  stirring  not  long  after  the  lark, 
what  mischief  did  the  Roman  go  about  first  ?  Now-a- 
days,  he  would  have  taken  a  pipe  or  a  cigar.  But, 
alas  for  the  ignorance  of  the  poor  heathen  creatures  ! 
they  had  neither  the  one  nor  the  other.  In  this  point, 
I  must  tax  our  mother  earth  with  being  really  too 
stingy.  In  the  case  of  the  candles,  I  approve  of  her 
parsimony.  Much  mischief  is  brewed  by  candle- 
light. But  it  was  coming  it  too  strong  to  allow  no 
*obacco.  Many  a  wild  fellow  in  Rome,  your  Gracchi, 
Syllas,  Catilines,  would  not  have  played  '  h —  and 
Tommj  '  in  the  way  they  did,  if  they  could  have 
toothed    their    angry  stomachs    with  a  cigar  •.   a  pipe 


BINKEB,    EEA.L,    AKD    KEPUTKD.  487 

aas  intercepted  many  an  evil  scheme.  But  the  thing 
Is  past  helping  now.  At  Rome,  you  must  do  as  '  they 
does  '  at  Rome.  So,  af^er  shaving  (supposing  the  age 
of  the  Barhati  to  be  past),  what  is  the  first  business 
that  our  Roman  will  undertake?  Forty  to  one  he  is  a 
poor  man,  born  to  look  upwards  to  his  fellow-men  — • 
and  not  to  look  down  upon  anybody  but  slaves.  He 
goes,  therefore,  to  the  palace  of  some  grandee,  some 
top-sawyer  of  the  senatorian  order.  This  great  man,  for 
all  his  greatness,  has  turned  out  even  sooner  than  him- 
self. For  he  also  has  had  no  candles  and  no  cigars  ;  and 
he  well  knows,  that  before  the  sun  looks  into  his  portals, 
all  his  halls  will  be  overflowing  and  buzzing  with  the 
matin  susurrus  of  courtiers  —  the  '  mane  salutantes.''^ 
It  is  as  much  as  his  popularity  is  worth  to  absent  himself, 
or  to  keep  people  waiting.  But  surely,  the  reader  may 
think,  this  poor  man  he  might  keep  waiting.  No,  he 
might  not ;  for,  though  poor,  being  a  citizen,  the  man 
is  a  gentleman.  That  was  the  consequence  of  keeping 
slaves.  Wherever  there  is  a  class  of  slaves,  he  that 
enjoys  the/ws  suffragii  (no  matter  how  poor)  is  a  gen- 
tleman. The  true  Latin  word  for  a  gentleman  is  in- 
genuus  —  a  freeman  and  the  son  of  a  freeman. 

Yet  even  here  there  were  distinctions.  Under  the 
emperors,  the  courtiers  were  divided  into  two  classes  : 
with  respect  to  the  superior  class,  it  was  said  of  the 
iovereign — that  he  saw  them  {'■  videbat ')  ;  with  re- 
kpect  to  the  other — that  he  was  seen  {^  '•idehaiur  '). 
Even  Plutarch  mentions  it  as  a  common  boast  in  his 
Umes,  rjna/;  eiSev  6  yStto-iAeus  —  C<esar  is  in  the  habit  of 
xeeinff  me  ;  or,  as  a  common  plea  for  evading  a  suit, 
ircpovs  bpa  fxaXXov  —  I  am  SOT^  to  say  he  is  more  iu' 
tlined  to  look  upon  others.   And  this  usage  derived  itself 


488  DINNEJa,    REAL,    AND    EBPUTED. 

fm&rk  that  \?ell !)  from  the  republican  era.  The  aulic 
ipirit  was  propagated  by  the  empire,  but  from  a  repub- 
lican root. 

Having  paid  his  court,  you  will  suppose  that  oui 
friend  comes  home  to  breakfast.  Not  at  all :  no  such 
discovery  as  '  breakfast '  had  then  been  made  :  breakfast 
was  not  invented  for  many  centuries  after  tbat.  I  have 
always  admired,  and  always  shall  admire,  as  the  very 
best  of  all  human  stories,  Charles  Lamb's  account  of 
roast-pork,  and  its  traditional  origin  in  China.  Ching 
Ping,  it  seems,  had  suffered  his  father's  house  to  be 
burned  down:  the  outhouses  were  burned  along  with 
the  house  :  and  in  one  of  these  the  pigs,  by  accident, 
were  roasted  to  a  turn.  Memorable  were  the  results 
for  all  future  China  and  future  civilization.  Ping,  who 
(like  all  China  beside)  had  hitherto  eaten  his  pig  raw, 
now  for  the  first  time  tasted  it  in  a  state  of  torrefac- 
tion.  Of  course  he  made  his  peace  with  his  father  bj 
a  part  (tradition  says  a  leg)  of  the  new  dish.  The 
father  was  so  astounded  with  the  discovery,  tbat  he 
burned  his  house  down  once  a-year  for  the  sake  of 
coming  at  an  annual  banquet  of  a  roast  pig.  A  curi- 
ous prying  sort  of  a  fellow,  one  Chang  Pang,  got  to 
know  of  this.  He  also  burned  down  a  house  with  a 
pig  in  it,  and  had  his  eyes  opened.  The  secret  waa 
Ql  kept  —  the  discovery  spread  —  many  great  conver- 
sions were  made  —  houses  were  blazihg  in  every  part 
of  the  Celestial  Empire.  The  insurance  ofl^ces  tool 
the  matter  up.  One  Chong  Pong,  detected  in  the  ver) 
act  of  shutting  up  a  pig  in  his  drawing-room,  and  ther 
firing  a  train,  was  indicted  on  a  charge  of  arson 
The  chief  justice  of  Pekin,  on  that  occasion,  re- 
iju^sted  an  officer  of  the  court  to  hand  him  up  a  piec* 


DIN  NEB,    KEAL,    AND    REPUTED.  489 

df  the  roast  pig,  the  corpus  delicti:  pure  curiosity  it 
was,  liberal  curiosity,  that  led  him  to  taste  ;  hut  within 
two  days  after,  it  was  observed,  says  Lamb,  that  his 
lordship's  town-house  was  on  fire.  In  short,  all  China 
apostatized  to  the  new  faith  ;  and  it  was  not  until 
some  centuries  had  passed,  that  a  man  of  prodigious 
genius  arose,  Adz.,  Chung  Pung,  who,  established  the 
second  era  in  the  history  of  roast  pig  by  showing  thai 
it  could  be  had  "without  burning  down  a  house. 

No  such  genius  had  yet  arisen  in  Rome.  Breakfast 
was  not  suspected.  No  prophecy,  no  type  of  break- 
fast, had  been  published.  In  fact,  it  took  as  much 
time  and  research  to  arrive  at  that  great  discovery  as 
at  the  Copernican  system.  True  it  is,  reader,  that 
you  have  hoard  of  such  a  word  as  jentaculum  ;  and 
your  dictionary  translates  that  old  heathen  word  by 
the  Christian  word  breakfast.  But  dictionaries  are 
dull  deceivers.  Between  jentaculum  and  breakfast  the 
differences  are  as  wide  as  between  a  horse-chestnut 
and  a  chestnut  horse  ;  differences  in  the  time  when,  in 
the  place  where,  in  the  manner  hoic,  but  pre-eminently 
in  the  thing  which. 

Galen  is  a  good  authority  upon  such  a  subject,  since, 
if  (like  other  Pagans)  he  ate  no  breakfast  himself,  in 
*ome  sense  he  may  be  called  the  cause  of  breukfast  to 
other  men,  by  treating  of  those  things  which  could 
lafely  be  taken  upon  an  empty  stomach.  As  to  the 
time,  he  (like  many  other  autliors)  says,  Trepl  TptT-qr,  rj 
(to  fxaKporepov)  rrepl  TCTOLpTqi',  about  the  third,  or  at  far- 
thest about  the  fourth  hour  :  and  so  exact  is  he,  that 
He  assumes  the  day  to  lie  exactly  between  six  and  sis 
o'clock,  and  to  be  divided  into  thirteen  equal  portions. 
Bo  the  time  will  be  a  few  minn^es  before  nine,  or  i 


IDO  DINNER,    EEAL,    AND    BEPTJTED. 

few  minutes  before  ten,  in  the  forenoon.  That  seems 
fair  enough.  But  it  is  not  time  in  respect  to  its  location 
that  we  are  concerned  with,  so  much  as  time  in  respect 
to  its  duration.  Now,  heaps  of  authorities  take  it 
for  granted,  that  you  are  not  to  sit  down  —  you  are  to 
stand;  and,  as  to  the  place,  that  any  place  will  do  — 
'any  corner  of  the  forum,'  says  Galen,  'any  coiT.er 
that  you  fancy  :  '  which  is  like  referring  a  man  for  his 
talle  a  manger  to  Westminster  Hall  or  Fleet  Street. 
Augustus,  in  a  letter  still  sur\'iving,  tells  us  that  he 
jentabat,  or  took  his  jentaculu?n,  in  his  carriage  ;  some- 
times in  a  wheel  carriage  {in  essedo),  sometimes  in  a 
litter  or  palanquin  {in  lecticd).  This  careless  and  dis- 
orderly way  as  to  time  and  place,  and  other  circum- 
stances of  haste,  sufficiently  indicate  the  quality  of  the 
meal  you  are  to  expect.  Already  you  are  '  sagacious 
of  your  quarry  from  so  far.'  Not  that  we  would  pre- 
sume, excellent  reader,  to  liken  you  to  Death,  or  to 
insinuate  that  you  are  a  '  grim  feature'  But  would 
it  not  make  a  saint  '  grim  '  to  hear  of  such  prepara- 
tions for  the  morning  meal  ?  And  then  to  hear  of 
such  consummations  as  panis  siccus,  dry  bread  ;  or  (if 
the  learned  reader  thinks  it  will  taste  better  in  Greek), 
KfiTog  ^tjQoi !  And  what  may  this  word  dry  happen 
to  mean?  'Does  it  mean  stale  J'  says  Salmasius. 
'  Shall  we  suppose,'  says  he,  in  querulous  words, 
'  molli  el  recenti  opponi,'  that  it  is  placed  in  antithesis 
to  soft  and  new  bread,  what  English  sailers  call  'soft 
tommy  7  '  and  from  that  antithesis  conclude  it  to  be, 
'  durum  et  non  recens  coctum,  eoque  sicciorem  ?  '  Hard 
\nd  stale,  and  in  that  proportion  more  arid?  Nut 
quite  so  bad  as  that,  we  hope.  Or  again  —  '  siccum 
pro  biscpcto,  ut  hodie  vocamus,  sumemus  ?  ''""    By  hodit 


DINNEE,    EEAL,    AND    EEPUTED.  491 

8almasius  means,  amongst  liis  countrymen  of  France, 
where  hiscoctus  is  yerl!)atim  reproduced  ic  the  word  hii 
(twice),  cuit  (baked)  ;  whence  our  own  biscuit.  Bis- 
cuit might  do  very  well,  could  we  be  sure  that  it  was 
cabin  biscuit ;  but  Salmasius  argues  that  —  in  this  case 
he  takes  it  to  mean  '  huccellatum,  qui  est  pants  nauti' 
cus ; '  that  is,  the  ship  company's  biscuit,  broken  with 
a  sledge-hammer.  In  Greek,  for  the  benefit  again  oi 
the  learned  reader,  it  is  termed  Sittvqo?,  indicating  that 
it  has  passed  twice  under  the  action  of  fire. 

'  Well,'  you  say,  '  no  matter  if  it  had  passed 
through  the  fires  of  Moloch;  only  let  us  have  this 
biscuit,  such  as  it  is.'  In  good  faith,  then,  fasting 
reader,  you  are  not  likely  to  see  much  more  than  you 
have  seen.  It  is  a  very  Barmecide  feast,  we  do  assure 
you  —  this  same  '  jentaculum  ;  '  at  which  abstinence 
and  patience  are  much  more  exercised  than  the  teeth : 
faith  and  hope  are  the  chief  graces  cultivated,  together 
with  that  species  of  the  magnificum  which  is  founded 
on  the  ignotum.  Even  this  biscuit  was  allowed  in  the 
most  limited  quantities  ;  for  which  reason  it  is  that 
the  Greeks  called  this  apology  for  a  meal  by  the  name 
oflSowxtauog,  a  word  formed  (as  many  words  were  in 
the  Post- Augustan  ages)  from  a  Latin  word  —  viz., 
huccea,  a  mouthful ;  not  literally  such,  but  so  much  as 
a  polished  man  could  allow  himself  to  put  into  his 
mouth  at  once.  '  We  took  a  mouthful,'  says  Sir 
William  Waller,  the  parliamentary  general  —  '  took 
I  mouthful ;  paid  our  reckoning  ;  mounted  ;  and  were 
»ff.'  But  there  Sir  William  means,  by  his  plausible 
mouthful,'  something  very  much  beyond  either  nine 
V  nineteen  ordinary  quantities  of  that  denomination, 
nrhercM  the  Roman  'jentaculum'  was  literally  such ; 


492  DINNER,    KEAL,    AND    EEPUTEB. 

and,  accordingly,  one  of  the  varieties  under  which  the 
ancient  vocabularies  express  this  model  of  evanescent 
quantities  is  gustatio,  a  mere  tasting ;  and  again,  it 
is  called  by  another  variety  gustus,  a  mere  taste 
[whence  comes  the  old  French  word  gouster  for  a 
refection  or  luncheon,  and  then  (by  the  usual  suppres- 
sion of  the  s)  gouter'\.  Speaking  of  his  uncle,  Pliny 
the  Younger  says  :  '  Post  solem  plerumque  lavabatur  : 
deinde  gustabat ;  dormiebat  minimum ;  mox,  quasi 
alio  die,  studebat  in  ccenae  tempus.'  '  After  taking 
the  air,  generally  speaking,  he  bathed ;  after  that  he 
broke  his  fast  on  a  morsel  of  biscuit,  and  took  a  very 
slight  siesta  :  which  done,  as  if  awaking  to  a  new  day, 
he  set  in  regularly  to  his  studies,  and  pursued  them  to 
dinner-time.'  Gustabat  here  meant  that  nondescript 
meal  which  arose  at  Rome  when  jentaculum  and  pran- 
dium  were  fused  into  one,  and  that  only  a  taste  or 
mouthful  of  biscuit,  as  we  shall  show  farther  on. 

Possibly,  however,  most  excellent  reader,  like  somt 
epicurean  traveller,  who,  in  crossing  the  Alps,  finds 
himself  weather-bound  at  St.  Bernard's  on  Ash- Wed- 
nesday, you  surmise  a  remedy :  you  descry  some  open- 
ing from  '  the  loopholes  of  retreat,'  through  which  a 
few  delicacies  might  be  insinuated  to  spread  verdure 
on  this  arid  wilderness  of  biscuit.  Casuistry  can  do 
much.  A  dead  hand  at  casuistry  has  often  proved 
more  than  a  match  for  Lent  %vith  all  his  quarantines. 
But  sorry  I  am  to  say  that,  in  this  case,  no  relief  is 
hinted  at  in  any  ancient  author,  A  grape  or  two  (not 
a  bunch  of  grapes),  a  raisin  or  two,  a  date,  an  olive  — 
these  are  the  whole  amount  of  relief^*'^  which  the 
tnancery  of  the  Roman  kitchen  granted  in  such  cases. 
All  things  here  hang  together,  and  prove  each  otbe 


DIXNER,    REAL,  AND    KEPUTED.  493 

—  the  time,  the  place,  the  mode,  the  thing.  WeD 
might  man  eat  standing,  or  eat  in  public,  such  a  trifle 
as  this.  Go  home,  indeed,  to  such  a  breakfast  ?  You 
would  as  soon  think  of  ordering  a  cloth  to  be  laid  in 
order  to  eat  a  peach,  or  of  asking  a  friend  to  join  you 
in  an  orange.  No  man  in  his  senses  makes  '  two  bitea 
of  a  cherry.'  So  let  us  pass  on  to  the  other  stages  of 
the  day.  Only,  in  taking  leave  of  this  morning's 
stage,  throw  your  eyes  back  with  me.  Christian  reader, 
upon  this  truly  heathen  meal,  fit  for  idolatrous  dogs 
like  your  Greeks  and  your  Romans ;  survey,  through 
the  vista  of  ages,  that  thrice-accursed  biscuit,  with 
half  a  fig,  perhaps,  by  way  of  garnish,  and  a  huge 
hammer  by  its  side,  to  secure  the  certainty  of  mastica- 
tion, by  previous  comminution.  Then  turn  your  eyes 
to  a  Christian  breakfast  —  hot  rolls,  eggs,  cofiee,  beef; 
but  down,  down,  rebellious  visions ;  we  need  say  no 
more  !  You,  reader,  like  myself,  will  breathe  a  male- 
diction on  the  Classical  era,  and  thank  your  stars  for 
making  you  a  Romanticist.  Every  morning  I  thank 
mine  for  keeping  me  back  from  the  Augustan  age,  and 
reserving  me  to  a  period  in  which  breakfast  had  been 
already  invented.     In  the  words  of  Ovid,  I  say  :  — 

*  Prisca  juvent  alios  :  ego  me  nunc  deniqae  natum 
Gratulor.     Haec  aetas  moribus  apta  meia.' 

Our  friend,  the  Roman  cit,  has  therefore  thus  far,  in 
hi,  progress  through  life,  obtained  no  breakfast,  if  he 
ever  contemplated  an  idea  so  frantic.  But  it  occurs  to 
you,  my  faithful  reader,  that  perhaps  he  will  not 
always  be  thus  unhappy.  I  could  bring  wagon-loads 
»f  sentiments,  Greek  as  well  as  Roman,  which  prove, 
Tiore  clearly  than  tne  most  eminent  pikestaff",  thnt,  av 


*94  DINNER,    BEAIi,    AND    REPUTED. 

the  wheel  of  fortune  revolves,  simply  out  of  the  fact 
that  it  has  carried  a  man  downwards,  it  must  subse- 
quently carry  him  upwards,  no  matter  what  dislike 
that  wheel,  or  any  of  its  spokes,  may  bear  to  that 
man :  '  non  si  male  nunc  sit,  et  olim  sic  erit :  '  and 
that  if  a  man,  through  the  madness  of  his  nation, 
misses  coffee  and  hot  rolls  at  nine,  he  may  easily  run 
into  a  leg  of  mutton  at  twelve.  True  it  is  he  may  do 
so  :  truth  is  commendable  ;  and  I  will  not  deny  that  a 
man  may  sometimes,  by  losing  a  breakfast,  gain  a 
dinner.  Such  things  have  been  in  various  ages,  and 
will  be  again,  but  not  at  Rome.  There  were  reasons 
against  it.  We  have  heard  of  men  who  consider  life 
under  the  idea  of  a  wilderness  —  dry  as  a  '  remainder 
biscuit  after  a  voyage  : '  and  who  consider  a  day  under 
the  idea  of  a  little  life.  Life  is  the  macrocosm,  oi 
world  at  large  ;  day  is  the  microcosm,  or  world  in  min- 
*>ature.  Consequently,  if  life  is  a  wilderness,  then  day, 
as  a  little  life,  is  a  little  wilderness.  And  this  wilder- 
ness can  be  safely  traversed  only  by  having  relays  of 
fountains,  or  stages  for  refreshment.  Such  stages, 
they  conceive,  are  found  in  the  several  meals  which 
Providence  has  stationed  at  due  intervals  through  the 
day,  whenever  the  perverseness  of  man  does  not  break 
the  chain,  or  derange  the  order  of  succession. 

These  are  the  anchors  by  which  man  rides  in  that 
billowy  ocean  between  morning  and  night.  The  first 
anchor,  viz.,  breakfast,  having  given  way  in  Rome,  the 
more  need  there  is  that  he  should  pull  up  by  the 
second ;  and  that  is  often  reputed  to  be  dinner.  And 
as  your  dictionary,  good  reader,  translated  breakfast  bj 
that  vain  -word  jentaculum,  so  doubtless  it  will  translate 
dinner  by  that  still  vainer  word  prandium.     Sincerely 


DINNEK,    KEAL,    AND    EEPUXED.  495 

I  hope  that  your  own  dinner  on  this  day,  and  through 
all  time  coming,  may  have  a  better  root  in  fact  and 
substance  than  this  most  visionary  of  all  baseless  things 
—  the  Roman  prandium,  of  which  I  shall  presently 
show  you  that  the  most  approved  translation  is  moon' 
shine. 

Reader,  I  am  anything  but  jesting  here.  In  the 
very  spirit  of  serious  truth,  I  assure  you  that  the  delu- 
sion about  '  jentaculum  '  is  even  exceeded  by  this  other 
delusion  about  '  prandium.'  Salmasius  himself,  for 
whom  a  natural  prejudice  of  place  and  time  partially 
obscured  the  truth,  admits,  however,  that  prandium 
was  a  meal  which  the  ancients  rarely  took  ;  his  very 
words  are  —  '■  raro  prandehant  veteres.'  Now,  judge 
for  yourself  of  tlie  good  sense  which  is  shown  in  trans- 
lating by  the  word  dinner,  which  must  of  necessity 
mean  the  chief  meal,  a  Roman  word  which  represents 
a  fancy  meal,  a  meal  of  caprice,  a  meal  which  few  peo- 
ple took.  At  this  moment,  what  is  the  single  point  of 
agreement  between  the  noon  meal  of  the  English  la- 
borer and  the  evening  meal  of  the  English  gentleman  ? 
What  is  the  single  circumstance  common  to  both, 
which  causes  us  to  denominate  them  by  the  common 
name  of  dinner  ?  It  is,  that  in  both  we  recognize  the 
principal  meal  of  the  day,  the  meal  upon  which  is 
thrown  the  07ius  of  the  day's  support.  In  everything 
else  they  are  as  wide  asunder  as  the  poles  ;  but  they 
agree  in  this  one  point  of  their  function.  Is  it  credible 
now,  that,  to  represent  such  a  meal  amongst  ourselves, 
we  select  a  Roman  word  so  notoriously  expressing  a 
mere  shadow,  a  pur^j  apology,  that  very  few  people  ever 
tasted  it  —  nobody  sat  down  to  it  —  not  many  washed 
«Aeir  hands  after  it,  and  gradually  the  very  name  of  it 


^96  DIXN£K,    BEAL,    AND    BEPUTED. 

became  interchangeable  with  another  name,  implying 
Ae  slightest  possible  act  of  tentative  tasting  or  sip- 
ping ?  '  Post  lavationem  sine  mensd  prandium,'  saya 
Seneca,  '  post  quod  non  sunt  lavandcB  manus  ;  '  that  is, 
'  after  bathing,  I  take  a  prandium  without  sitting  down 
to  table,  and  such  a  prandium  as  brings  after  itself  no 
need  of  washing  the  hands.'  No  ;  moonshine  as  little 
Boils  the  hands  as  it  oppresses  the  stomach. 

Reader  !  I,  as  well  as  Pliny,  had  an  uncle,  an  East 
Indian  uncle ;  doubtless  you  have  such  an  uncle ; 
'jverybody  has  an  Indian  uncle.  Generally  such  a 
person  is  '  rather  yellow,  rather  yellow '  (to  quote 
Canning  versus  Lord  Durham),  that  is  the  chief  fault 
with  his  physics  ;  but,  as  to  his  morals,  he  is  univer- 
sally a  man  of  princely  aspirations  and  habits.  He  is 
not  always  so  orientally  rich  as  he  is  reputed  ;  but  he 
is  always  orientally  munificent.  Call  upon  him  at  any 
hour  from  two  to  five,  he  insists  on  your  taking  tiffin : 
and  such  a  tifiin  !  The  English  corresponding  term  is 
luncheon ;  but  how  meagre  a  shadow  is  the  European 
meal  to  its  glowing  Asiatic  cousin !  Still,  gloriously  aa 
tiffin  shines,  does  anybody  imagine  that  it  is  a  vicarious 
dinner,  or  ever  meant  to  be  the  substitute  and  locum 
tenens  of  dinner  ?  Wait  till  eight,  and  you  will  have 
your  eyes  opened  on  that  subject.  So  of  the  Roman 
yrandium  :  had  it  been  as  luxurious  as  it  was  simple, 
still  it  was  always  viewed  as  something  meant  only  to 
stay  the  stomach,  as  a  prologue  to  something  beyond. 
^"he  prandium  was  far  enough  from  gi'ving  the  feeblest 
idea  even  of  the  English  luncheon  ;  yet  it  stood  in  the 
»ame  relation  to  the  Roman  day.  Now  to  English- 
nen  that  meal  scarcely  exists  ;  and  were  it  not  foT 
women,  "hose   ielicacr  of  organization  does  not  allo\* 


DINNER,    BEAX,    AND    BEPTJTED.  497 

them  to  fast  so  long  as  men,  would  probably  be  aboJ- 
ished.  It  is  singular  in  this,  as  in  other  points,  how 
nearly  England  and  ancient  Rome  approximate.  We 
all  know  how  hard  it  is  to  tempt  a  man  generally  into 
spoiling  his  appetite,  by  eating  before  dinner.  The 
same  dislike  of  violating  what  they  called  the  integrity 
of  the  appetite  {integram  famern),  existed  at  Rome. 
Integer  means  what  is  intact,  unviolated  by  touch. 
Cicero,  when  protesting  against  spoiling  his  appetite 
for  dinner,  by  tasting  anything  beforehand,  says,  inte' 
gram  famem  ad  ccenam  afferam ;  I  intend  bringing  to 
dinner  an  appetite  untampered  with.  Nay,  so  much 
stress  did  the  Romans  lay  on  maintaining  this  primi- 
tive state  of  the  appetite  undisturbed,  that  any  prelu- 
sions  with  either  jentaculum  or  prandiiim  were  said, 
uy  a  very  strong  phrase'  indeed,  polluere  famem,  to 
pollute  the  sanctity  of  the  appetite.  The  appetite  was 
regarded  as  a  holy  vestal  flame,  soaring  upwards  to- 
wards dinner  throughout  the  day  :  if  undebauched,  it 
tended  to  its  natural  consummation  in  ccena  :  expiring 
like  a  phoenix,  to  rise  again  out  of  its  own  ashes.  On 
this  theory,  to  which  language  had  accommodated 
itself,  the  two  prelusive  meals  of  nine  or  ten  o'clock 
A.  M.,  and  of  one  p.  ii.,  so  far  from  being  ratified  by 
the  public  sense,  and  adopted  into  the  economy  of  the 
day,  were  regarded  gloomily  as  gross  irregularities, 
enormities,  debauchers  of  the  natural  instinct ;  and,  in 
so  far  as  they  thwarted  that  instinct,  lessened  it,  or 
depraved  it,  were  almost  imiformly  held  to  be  full  of 
pollution  ;  and,  finally,  to  profane  a  sacred  motion  of 
nature.     Such  was  the  language. 

But  we  guess  what  is  passing  m  the  reader's  mind. 
He  thinks  that  all  this  proves  tne  prandium  to  have 

32 


198  DINNER,    BEAL,    LSD    BEPTTTED. 

been  a  meal  of  little  account ;  and  in  very  many  casei 
absolutely  unknown.  But  still  lie  thinks  all  thia 
might  happen  to  the  English  dinner  —  that  also  might 
be  neglected ;  supper  might  be  generally  preferred ; 
and,  nevertheless,  dinner  would  be  as  truly  entitled  to 
the  name  of  dinner  as  hefore.  Many  a  student 
neglects  his  dinner  ;  enthusiasm  in  any  pursuit  must 
often  have  extinguished  appetite  for  all  of  us.  Many 
&  time  and  oft  did  this  happen  to  Sir  Isaac  Newton. 
Evidence  is  on  record,  that  such  a  deponent  at  eight 
o'clock  A.  M.  found  Sir  Isaac  with  one  stocking  on,  one 
off;  at  two,  said  deponent  called  him  to  dinner. 
Being  interrogated  whether  Sir  Isaac  had  pulled  on 
the  minus  stocking,  or  gartered  the  plus  stocking,  wit- 
ness replied  that  he  had  not.  Being  asked  if  Sir 
Isaac  came  to  dinner,  replied  that  he  did  not.  Being 
again  asked,  '  At  sunset,  did  you  look  in  on  Sir 
Isaac?'  witness  replied,  'I  did.'  'And  now,  upon 
your  conscience,  sir,  by  the  virtue  of  your  oath,  in  what 
state  were  the  stockings  ?  '  Ans.  — '  In  statu  quo  ante  ■ 
bellum.'  It  seems  Sir  Isaac  had  fought  through  that 
whole  battle  of  a  long  day,  so  trying  a  campaign  to 
many  people  —  he  had  traversed  that  whole  sandy 
Zaarah,  without  calling,  or  needing  to  call,  at  one  of 
those  fountains,  stages,  or  mansiones^''^  by  which  (ac- 
cording to  our  former  explanation)  Providence  has  re- 
lieved the  continuity  of  arid  soil,  which  else  disfigurea 
that  long  dreary  level.  This  happens  to  all ;  but  was 
dinner  not  dinner,  and  did  supper  become  dinner, 
because  Sir  Isaac  Newton  ate  nothing  at  the  first,  and 
lirew  the  whole  day's  support  upon  the  last  .-^  No, 
you  vvfll  say,  a  rule  is  not  defeated  by  one  casua< 
deviation,    nor    by    one    person's    constant   deviation 


SINNEB,    BEAL,    AND    KEPITTED.  499 

Everybody  else  was  still  dining  at  two,  though  Sir 
Isaac  might  not ;  and  Sir  Isaac  himself  on  most  daya 
to  more  deferred  his  dinner  beyond  two,  than  he  sat  in 
public  with  one  stocking  off.  But  what  if  everybody, 
Sir  Isaac  included,  had  deferred  his  substantial  meal 
untn  night,  and  taken  a  slight  refection  only  at  two  ? 
The  question  put  does  really  represent  the  very  case 
which  has  happened  with  us  in  England.  In  1700,  a 
large  part  of  London  took  a  meal  at  two  p.  M.,  and 
another  at  seven  or  eight  p.  m.  At  present,  a  large 
part  of  London  is  still  doing  the  very  same  thing,  tak- 
ing one  meal  at  two,  and  another  at  seven  or  eight. 
But  the  names  are  entirely  changed :  the  two  o'clock 
meal  used  to  be  called  dinner,  whereas  at  present  it  is 
called  luncheon  ;  the  seven  o'clock  meal  used  to  be 
called  supper,  whereas  at  present  it  is  called  dinner , 
and  in  both  cases  the  difference  is  anything  but 
verbal :  it  expresses  a  translation  of  that  main  mealj 
on  which  the  day's  support  rested,  from  mid-day  to 
evening. 

Upon  reviewing  the  idea  of  dinner,  we  soon  perceive 
that  time  has  little  or  no  connection  with  it :  since, 
both  in  England  and  France,  dinner  has  travelled,  like 
the  hand  of  a  clock,  through  every  hour  between  ten 
A..  M.  and  ten  p.  m.  We  have  a  list,  well  attested,  of 
every  successive  hour  between  these  limits  having 
been  the  known  established  hour  for  the  royal  dinner- 
able  within  the  last  three  hundred  and  fifty  years, 
rime,  therefore,  vanishes  from  the  problem ;  it  is  a 
quantity  regularly  exterminated.  The  true  elements 
■)f  the  idea  are  evidently  these  :  —  1.  That  dinner  Ls 
hat  meal,  no  matter  when  taKcn,  which  is  the  princi- 
pal meal ;  i.  e.,  the  meal  on  which  the  day's  support  is 


500  DINNEB,    BEAIi,    AND    REPUTED. 

throMii.  2.  That  it  is  therefore  tlie  meal  of  hospitality 
3.  That  it  is  the  meal  (with  reference  to  both  Nos.  1 
and  2)  in  which  animal  food  predominate.  4.  That  it 
is  that  meal  which,  upon  a  necessity  arising  for  the 
abolition  of  all  hut  one,  would  naturally  offer  itself  as 
that  one.  Apply  these  four  tests  to  prandium :  — 
How  could  that  meal  prandium  answer  to  the  first 
test,  as  the  day's  support,  Avhich  few  people  touched  ? 
How  could  that  meal  prandium  answer  to  the  second 
test,  as  the  meal  of  hospitality,  at  which  nobody  sat 
down  ?  How  could  that  meal  prandium  answer  to  the 
third  test,  as  the  meal  of  animal  food,  which  consisted 
exclusively  and  notoriously  of  bread  ?  Or  answer  to 
the  fourth  test,  as  the  privileged  meal  entitled  to  sur- 
vive the  abolition  of  the  rest,  which  was  itself  abolished 
at  all  times  in  practice  ? 

Tried,  therefore,  by  every  test,  prandium  vanishes. 
But  I  have  something  further  to  communicate  about 
this  same  prandium. 

1.  It  came  to  pass,  by  a  very  natural  association  of 
feeling,  that  prandium  and  jentaculum,  in  the  latter 
centuries  of  Rome,  were  generally  confounded.  This 
result  was  inevitable.  Both  professed  the  same  basis. 
Both  came  in  the  morning.  Both  were  fictions.  Hence 
they  melted  and  collapsed  into  each  other. 

That  fact  speaks  for  itself  —  the  modern  breakfast 
fiud  luncheon  never  could  have  been  confounded ;  but 
who  would  be  at  the  pains  of  distinguishing  two 
shadows  ?  In  a  gambling-house  of  that  class,  where 
you  are  at  liberty  to  sit  down  to  a  splendid  banquet, 
anxiety  probably  prevents  your  sitting  down  at  all 
but,  if  you  do,  the  same  cause  prevents  you  noticingf 
what  you  eat.     So  of  the  two  pseudo  meals  of  Rome; 


BIKNEK,    KEAX,    AND    REPUTED.  501 

ftiey  came  in  the  very  midst  of  tKe  Roman  business  — 
nz.,  from  nine  a.  m.  to  two  p.  m.  Nobody  could  give 
his  mind  to  tbem,  had  they  been  of  better  quality. 
There  lay  one  cause  of  their  vagueness  —  viz.,  in  theii 
positicm.  Another  cause  was,  the  common  basis  of 
both.  Bread  was  so  notoriously  the  predominating 
'  feature '  in  each  of  these  prelusive  banquets,  that  all 
foreigners  at  Rome,  who  communicated  with  Romans 
through  the  Greek  language,  knew  both  the  one  and 
the  other  by  the  name  of  unTonirog,  or  the  bread  repast. 
Originally,  this  name  had  been  restricted  to  the  earlier 
meal.  But  a  distinction  without  a  difference  could  not 
sustain  itself;  and  both  alike  disguised  their  emptiness 
under  this  pompous  quadrisyllable.  All  words  are 
suspicious,  there  is  an  odor  of  fraud  about  them,  which 
—  being  concerned  with  common  things  —  are  so  base 
as  to  stretch  out  to  four  syllables.  What  does  an  honest 
word  want  with  more  than  two  ?  In  the  identity  of 
substance,  therefore,  lay  a  second  ground  of  confusion 
And  then,  thirdly,  even  as  to  the  time,  which  had  eve  i 
been  the  sole  real  distinction,  there  arose  from  accident 
a  tendency  to  converge.  For  it  happened  that,  while 
some  had  jentaculum  but  no  prandium,  others  had 
prandium  but  no  jentaculum ;  a  third  party  had  both  ; 
a  fourth  party,  by  much  the  largest,  had  neither.  Out 
of  which  four  varieties  (who  would  think  that  a  non- 
entity could  cut  up  into  so  many  somethings  :)  arose  a 
fifth  party  of  compromisers,  who,  because  they  could 
4ot  afford  a  regular  cana,  and  yet  were  hospitably  dis- 
X)8ed,  fused  the  two  ideas  into  one ;  and  so,  because 
the  usual  time  for  the  idea  of  a  breakfast  was  nine  to 
ten,  and  for  the  idea  of  a  luncheon  twelve  fo  one,  com- 
promised  the  rival  pretensions  by  whAt  diplomatiuta 


502  DINNER,    BEAt,    AND     REPUTED. 

call  a  me'izo  termine ;  bisecting  the  time  at  eleven,  and 
melting  tlie  two  ideas  into  one.  But,  by  thus  merg* 
ing  the  separate  times  of  each,  they  abolished  the  sole 
real  difference  that  had  ever  divided  them.  Losing 
that,  they  lost  all. 

Perhaps,  as  two  negatives  make  one  affirmative,  it 
may  be  thought  that  two  layers  of  moonshine  might 
coalesce  into  one  pancake ;  and  two  Barmecide  ban- 
quets might  be  the  square  root  of  one  poached  egg. 
Of  that  the  company  were  the  best  judges.  But, 
probably,  as  a  rump  and  dozen,  in  our  land  of  wagers, 
is  construed  with  a  very  liberal  latitude  as  to  the 
materials,  so  Martial's  invitation,  '  to  take  bread  with 
him  at  eleven,'  might  be  understood  by  the  nvnro!  (the 
knowing  ones)  as  significant  of  something  better  than 
oQTonnCc.  Otherwise,  in  good  truth,  '  moonshine  and 
turn-out  '  at  eleven  a.  m.  would  be  even  worse  than 
'  tea  and  turn-out  *  at  eight  p.  m.,  which  the  '  fervida 
juventus  '  of  Young  England  so  loudly  deprecates. 
But,  however  that  might  be,  in  this  convergement  of 
the  several  frontiers,  and  the  confusion  that  ensued, 
I  ne  cannot  wonder  that,  whilst  the  two  bladders  col- 
lapsed into  one  idea,  they  actually  expanded  into  four 
names  —  two  Latin  and  two  Greek,  gustus  and  guS' 
latio,  ysvaig  and  yeva^a  —  which  all  alike  express  the 
merely  tentative  or  exploratory  act  of  a  prcEgiLstator 
or  professional  '  taster  '  in  a  king's  household  :  what, 
if  applied  to  a  fluid,  we  should  denominate  sipping. 

At  last,  by  so  many  steps  all  in  one  direction,  things 
nad  come  to  such  a  pass  —  the  two  prelusive  meals  of 
Aie  Roman  morning,  each  for  itself  separately  vague 
fxoTci  the  beginning,  had  so  communicated  and  inter- 
filed their  several  and  joint  vaguenesses,  that  at  las* 


DINNEB,    REAL,    AND    KEPTJTED.  508 

no  man  knew  or  cared  to  know  what  any  other  man 
included  in  his  idea  of  either ;  how  much  or  how  little. 
And  you  might  as  well  have  hunted  in  the  woods  of 
Ethiopia  for  Prester  John,  or  fixed  the  parish  of  the 
Everlasting  Jew,^''^  as  have  attempted  to  say  what  'jen- 
taculum  '  certainly  was,  or  what  '  prandium '  certainly 
was  not.  Only  one  thing  was  clear,  that  neither  was 
anything  that  people  cared  for.  They  were  both 
empty  shadows  ;  but  shadows  as  they  were,  we  find 
from  Cicero  that  they  had  a  power  of  polluting  and 
profaning  better  things  than  themselves. 

We  presume  that  no  rational  man  will  heceforth 
look  for  '  dinner  '  —  that  great  idea  according  to  Dr. 
Johnson  —  that  sacred  idea  according  to  Cicero  —  in 
a  bag  of  moonshine  on  one  side,  or  a  bag  of  pollution 
on  the  other.  Prandium,  so  far  from  being  what  our 
foolish  dictionaries  pretend  —  dinner  itself  —  never  in 
its  palmiest  days  was  more  or  other  than  a  miser- 
able attempt  at  being  luncheon.  It  was  a  conatus, 
what  physiologists  call  a  nisus,  a  struggle  in  a  very 
ambitious  spark,  or  scintilla,  to  kindle  into  a  fire. 
This  nisus  went  on   for  some   centuries  ;   but  finally 

ivaporated  in  smoke.  If  prandium  had  worked  out 
.ts  ambition,  had  '  the  great  stream  of  tendency '  ac- 
complished all  its  purposes,  prandium  never  could 
have  been  more  than  a  very  indifferent  luncheon.  But 
now, 

2.  I  have  to  offer  another  fact,  ruinous  to  our  dic- 
tionaries on  another  ground.  Various  circumstancea 
have  disguised  the  truth,  but  a  truth  it  is,  that  '  pran- 

lium,'  in  its  very  origin  and  incunabula,  never  was  a 
meal  known  to  the  Roman   ctilina.     In  that   court  it 

was  never  recognized  except  as  an  alien.     It  had  no 


504  DINNER,    REAL,    AND    KEPTTTED. 

original  domicile  in  the  city  of  Rome.  It  was  a  vox 
castrensis,  a  word  and  an  idea  purely  martial,  and 
pointing  to  martial  necessities.  Amongst  the  new 
ideas  proclaimed  to  the  recruit,  this  was  one  —  '  Look 
for  no  "  ccma,''  no  regular  dinner,  with  us.  Resign 
these  unwarlike  notions.  It  is  true  that  even  war  has 
its  respites ;  in  these  it  would  he  possible  to  have  our 
Roman  cmia  vnth  all  its  equipage  of  ministrations. 
But  luxury  untunes  the  mind  for  doing  and  suffering. 
Let  us  voluntarily  renounce  it ;  that,  when  a  necessity 
of  renouncing  it  arrives,  we  may  not  feel  it  among  the 
hardships  of  war.  From  the  day  when  you  enter  the 
gates  of  the  camp,  reconcile  yourself,  tiro,  to  a  new 
fashion  of  meal,  to  what  in  camp  dialect  we  call  pran- 
dium.'  This  prandium,  this  essentially  military  meal, 
was  taken  standing,  by  way  of  symbolizing  the  ne- 
cessity of  being  always  ready  for  the  enemy.  Hence 
the  posture  in  which  it  was  taken  at  Rome,  the  very 
counter-pole  to  the  luxurious  posture  of  dinner.  A 
writer  of  the  third  century,  a  period  from  which  the 
Romans  naturally  looked  back  upon  everything  con- 
nected with  their  own  early  habits,  with  much  the 
same  kind  of  interest  as  we  extend  to  our  Alfred  (sep- 
arated from  us,  as  Romulus  from  them,  by  just  a  thou- 
sand years),  in  speaking  of  prandium,  says,  '  Quod 
liictum  est  parandium,  ab  eo  quod  milites  ad  bellum 
oaret.'  Isidorus  again  says,  '  Proprie  apud  veceres 
prandium  vocatum  fuisse  omnem  militum  cibum  ante 
Dugnam  : '  *.  e.,  '  that,  properly  speaking,  amongst  oui 
iiacestors  every  military  meal  taken  before  battle  wts 
termed  prandium.^  According  to  Isidore,  the  propo 
Bition  is  reciprocating  ;  viz.,  that,  as  every  prandiwn 
was  a  railitary  meal,  so  every  military  meal  was  calleo 


DINNER,    REAL,    AND    REPUTED.  505 

tirandium.  But,  in  fact,  tlie  reason  of  that  is  apparent. 
Whether  in  the  camp  or  the  city,  the  early  Romans 
had  probably  but  one  meal  in  a  day  That  is  true  of 
many  a  man  amongst  ourselves  by  choice  ;  it  is  true 
also,  to  our  knowledge,  of  some  horse  regiments  in  our 
Bervice,  and  may  be  of  all.  This  meal  was  called  coena, 
or  dinner  in  the  city — prandium  in  cenmps.  In  the 
city,  it  would  always  be  tending  to  one  fixed  hour. 
In  the  camp,  innumerable  accidents  of  war  would 
make  it  very  uncertain.  On  this  account  it  woxild  be 
an  established  rule  to  celebrate  the  daily  meal  at  noon, 
if  nothing  hindered ;  not  that  a  later  hour  would  not 
have  been  preferred,  had  the  choice  been  free  ;  but  it 
was  better  to  have  a  certainty  at  a  bad  hour,  than  by 
waiting  for  a  better  hour  to  make  it  an  uncertainty. 
For  it  was  a  camp  proverb  —  Pransus,  paratus ;  armed 
with  his  daily  meal,  the  soldier  is  ready  for  service. 
It  was  not,  however,  that  all  meals,  as  Isidore  imagined, 
were  indiscriminately  called  prandium;  but  that  the 
one  sole  meal  of  the  day,  by  accidents  of  war,  might, 
and  did,  revolve  through  all  hours  of  the  day. 

The  first  introduction  of  this  military  meal  into 
Rome  itself  would  be  through  the  honorable  pedantry 
f  old  centurions,  &c.,  delighting  (like  the  Commodore 
Trunnions  of  our  navy)  to  keep  up  in  peaceful  life 
Bome  image  or  memorial  of  their  past  experience,  so 
wild,  so  full  of  peril,  excitement,  and  romance,  as 
Roman  warfare  must  have  been  in  those  ages.  Many 
non-military  people  for  healta's  sake,  many  as  an 
••xcuse  for  eating  early,  manj  by  way  cf  interposing 
bome  refreshment  between  the  stages  of  forensic  busi- 
ness, would  adopt  this  hurried  and  informal  meaL 
Many  would  wish  to  see  theii*  sona  adopting  such  a 


506  DINNEK,    EEAL,    AND    REPUTED. 

tneal,  as  a  training  for  foreign  service  in  particular,  and 
for  temperance  in  general.  It  would  also  be  main- 
tained by  a  solemn  and  very  interesting  commemora- 
tion  of  this  camp  repast  in  Rome. 

This  commemoration,  beca^ise  it  has  been  grossly 
mipunderstood  by  Salmasiuf  (whose  error  arose  from 
not  marking  the  true  point  of  a  particular  antithesis), 
and  still  more,  because  it  is  a  distinct  confirmation  of 
all  I  have  said  as  to  the  military  nature  of  prandium^ 
I  shall  detach  from  the  series  of  my  illustrations,  by 
placing  it  in  a  separate  paragraph. 

On  a  set  day  the  officers  of  the  army  were  invited 
by  Csesar  to  a  banquet;  it  was  a  circumstance  ex- 
pressly noticed  in  the  invitation,  that  the  banquet  was 
not  a  '  ccena,'  but  a  '  prandium.'  What  did  that  imply  ? 
Why,  that  all  the  guests  must  present  themselves 
in  full  military  accoutrement ;  whereas,  observes  the 
historian,  had  it  been  a  ccena,  the  officers  would  have 
unbelted  their  swords ;  for  he  adds,  even  in  Caesar's 
presence  the  officers  are  allowed  to  lay  aside  their 
Bwords.  The  word  prandium,  in  short,  converted  the 
palace  into  the  imperial  tent ;  and  Caesar  was  no 
longer  a  civil  emperor  and  princeps  sendtus,  but 
became  a  commander-in-chief  amongst  a  council  of 
"lis  staff,  all  belted  and  plumed,  and  in  full  military  fig. 

On  this  principle  we  come  to  understand  why  it  is, 
hat,  whenever  the  Latin  poets  speak  of  an  army  as 
taking  food,  the  word  used  is  always  prandeub  and 
vransus  ;  and  when  the  word  Tised  is  prandens,  thei; 
jjways  it  is  an  army  that  is  concerned.  Thus  Juvenal 
in  a  well-known  passage  :  — 

*  Credimus  alloa 
Desiccasse  amnes,  epotaque  flumlna,  Medo 
Prandente  '  — 


DINNEE,    SEAL,    AND    KEPXJTED.  5U7 

that  rivers  were  drunk  up,  when  the  Mede  [i.  e.,  the 
Median  army  under  Xerxes]  took  his  daily  meal : 
vrandente,  observe,  not  ccenante :  you  might  as  well 
talk  of  an  army  taking  tea  and  buttered  toast,  as  taking 
ccena.  Nor  is  that  word  ever  applied  to' armies.  It  'S 
true  that  the  converse  is  not  so  rigorously  observed » 
nor  ought  it,  from  the  explanations  already  given. 
Though  no  soldier  dined  {ccenahat),  yet  the  citizen 
sometimes  adopted  the  camp  usage,  and  took  a  pran- 
dium.  But  generally  the  poets  use  the  word  merely 
to  mark  the  time  of  day.  In  that  most  humorous  ap- 
peal of  Perseus  —  '  Cur  quis  non  prandeat,  hoc  est  ? '  — 
is  this  a  sufficient  reason  for  losing  one's  prandium  ? 
—  he  was  obliged  to  say  prandium,  because  no  exhibi- 
tions ever  could  cause  a  man  to  lose  his  coma,  since 
none  were  displayed  at  a  time  of  day  when  nobody  in 
Rome  would  have  attended.  Just  as,  in  alluding  to  a 
parliamentary  speech  notoriously  delivered  at  midnight, 
an  English  satirist  might  have  said.  Is  this  a  speech  to 
furnish  an  argument  for  leaving  one's  bed  ?  —  not  as 
what  stood  foremost  in  his  regard,  but  as  the  only 
thing  that  could  be  lost  at  that  time  of  night. 

On  this  principle,  also  —  viz.  by  going  back  to  the 
»iilitary  origin  of  prandium  —  we  gain  the  interpreta- 
tion of  all  the  peculiarities  attached  to  it :  viz.  — 
1,  its  early  hour  ;  2,  its  being  taken  in  a  standing 
posture ;  3,  in  the  open  air  ;  4,  the  humble  quality  of 
its  materials  —  bread  and  biscuit  (the  main  articles  of 
military  fare).  In  all  these  circumstances  of  the  meal, 
re  read  most  legibly  written,  the  exotic  (or  non-civic) 
•haracter  of  the  meal,  and  its  martial  character. 

Thus  I  have  brought  down  our  Roman  friend  to 
noonday,  or  even  one  hour  later  than  noon,  and  to 


508  DINNEK,    KEA.L,    AND    BEPUTED. 

this  moment  the  poor  man  has  had  nothing  to  eat. 
For  supposing  him  to  be  not  impransiis,  and  supposing 
bim  jentdsse  beside  ;  yet  it  is  evident  (I  hope)  that 
neither  one  nor  the  other  means  more  than  what  it  was 
often  called  —  viz.,  psxxiofiog,  or,  in  plain  English,  a 
mouthful.  How  long  do  we  intend  to  keep  him  wait- 
ing ?  Reader,  he  will  dine  at  three,  or  (supposing 
dinner  put  off  to  the  latest)  at  four.  Dinner  was 
never  known  to  be  later  than  the  tenth  hour  at  Rome, 
which  in  summer  would  be  past  five  ;  but  for  a  far 
greater  proportion  of  dajs  would  be  near  four  in  Rome. 
And  so  entirely  was  a  Roman  the  creature  of  ceremo- 
nial usage,  that  a  national  mourning  would  probably 
have  been  celebrated,  and  the  '  sad  augurs '  would 
have  been  called  in  to  expiate  the  prodigy,  had  the 
general  dinner  lingered  beyond  four. 

But,  meantime,  what  has  our  friend  been  aoout  since 
perhaps  six  or  seven  in  the  morning  ?  After  paying 
his  little  homage  to  his  patronus,  in  what  way  has  he 
fought  with  the  great  enemy  Time  since  then  ?  Why, 
reader,  this  illustrates  one  of  the  most  interesting 
features  in  the  Roman  character.  The  Roman  was  the 
'dlest  of  men.  '  Man  and  boy,'  he  was  '  an  idler  in 
the  land.'  He  called  himself  and  his  pals,  '  rerum 
iominos,  gentemque  togatam'  — '  the  gentry  that  wore 
the  toga.'  Yes,  a  pretty  set  of  gentrxj  they  were,  and 
»  pretty  affair  that  '  toga '  was.  Just  figure  to  your- 
self, reader,  the  picture  of  a  hard-working  man,  with 
horny  hands,  like  our  hedgers,  ditchers,  porters,  &c., 
Betting  to  work  on  the  high  road  in  that  vast  sweeping 
toga,  filling  with  a  strong  gale  like  the  mainsail  of  a 
*rigate.  Conceive  the  roars  with  which  this  magnifi- 
cent figure  would  be   received  into  the  bosom  of 


SINNEB,  BEAL,  AXD  BEFUTED.       50*J 

modern  poor-house  detachment  sent  out  to  attack  the 
Btones  on  some  line  of  road,  or  a  fatigue  party  of  dust- 
men sent  upon  secret  service.  Had  there  been  nothing 
left  as  a  memorial  of  the  Romans  but  that  one  relic  — 
their  immeasurable  toga^*** — I  should  have  known  that 
thej  were  born  and  bred  to  idleness.  In  fact,  except 
in  war,  the  Roman  never  did  anything  at  all  but  sun 
himself.  Uti  se  apricaret  was  the  final  cause  of  peace 
in  his  opinion  ;  in  literal  truth,  that  he  might  make  an 
apricot  of  himself.  The  public  rations  at  all  times 
supported  the  poorest  inhabitant  of  Rome  if  he  were  a 
citizen.  Hence  it  was  that  Hadrian  was  sn  astonished 
with  the  spectacle  of  Alexandria,  '  civitas  opul-nta, 
fcecunda,  in  qua  nemo  vivat  otiosus.^  Here  first  he 
saw  the  spectacle  of  a  vast  city,  second  only  to  Rome, 
where  every  man  had  something  to  do ;  podagrosi 
quod  agant  habent ;  habent  cceci  quodfaciant;  ne  chi- 
ragrici '  (those  with  gout  in  the  fingers)  '  apud  eos 
otiosi  vivunt.*  No  poor  rates  levied  upon  the  rest  of 
the  world  for  the  benefit  of  their  own  paupers  were 
there  distributed  gratis.  The  prodigious  spectacle 
(such  it  seemed  to  Hadrian)  was  exhibited  in  Alexan- 
dria, of  all  men  earning  their  bread  in  the  sweat  of 
their  brow.  In  Rome  only  (and  at  one  time  in  som<" 
of  the  Grecian  states),  it  was  the  very  meaning  of  citi- 
zen that  he  should  vote  and  be  idle.  Precisely  tho8« 
were  the  two  things  which  the  Roman,  theycBo;  Romuli 
Lad  to  do  — viz.,  sometimes  to  vote,  and  always  to  b* 
die 

In  these  circumstances,  where  the  whole  sum  of 
lue's  duties  amounted  to  voting,  all  the  business  » 
hum  could  have  was  to  attend  the  public  assembliea, 
electioneering   or  factious.     These,  and   any  judicial 


510  DINNER,    KEAL,    AND    KEPUTED. 

trial  (public  or  private)  that  might  happen  to  interest 
him  for  the  persons  concerned,  or  for  the  questions  at 
stake,  amused  him  through  the  morning ;  that  is,  from 
eight  till  one.  He  might  also  extract  some  diversion 
from  the  columnce,  or  pillars  of  certain  porticoes  to 
which  they  pasted  advertisements.  These  ajfickes  must 
have  been  numerous ;  for  all  the  girls  in  Rome  who 
lost  a  trinket,  or  a  pet  bird,  or  a  lap-dog,  took  this 
mode  of  angling  in  the  great  ocean  of  the  public  for 
the  missing  articles. 

But  all  this  time  I  take  for  granted  that  there  were 
no  shows  in  a  course  of  exhibition,  either  the  dreadful 
ones  of  the  amphitheatre,  or  the  bloodless  ones  of  the 
circus.  If  there  were,  then  that  became  the  business 
of  all  Romans ;  and  it  was  a  business  which  would 
have  occupied  him  from  daylight  until  the  light  began 
to  fail.  Here  we  see  another  effect  from  the  scarcity 
of  artificial  light  amongst  the  ancients.  These  magni- 
ficent shows  went  on  by  daylight.  But  how  incom- 
parably more  gorgeous  would  have  been  the  splendor 
by  lamp-light !  What  a  gigantic  conception !  Two 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  human  faces  all  revealed 
under  one  blaze  of  lamp-light !  Lord  Bacon  saw  the 
mighty  advantage  of  candle-light  for  the  pomps  and 
glories  of  this  world.  But  the  poverty  of  the  earth 
was  the  original  cause  that  the  Pagan  shows  proceeded 
by  day.  Not  that  the  masters  of  the  world,  who 
rained  Arabian  odors  and  perfumed  waters  of  the 
Tiost  costly  description  from  a  thousand  fountains, 
kimply  to  cool  the  summer  heats,  would,  in  the  latter 
centuries  of  Roman  civilization,  have  regarded  the  ex- 
pense of  light ;  cedar  and  other  odorous  woods  burning 
apou  vast  altai's,  together  with  every  variety  of  fragran 


DINNEB,  KEAL,  AND  REPUTED.        511 

lorjh,  would  have  created  light  enough  to  shed  a  ne\v 
iay  stretching  over  to  the  distant  Adriatic.  But  pre- 
cedents derived  from  early  ages  of  poverty,  ancient 
traditions,  overruled  the  practical  usage. 

However,  as  there  may  happen  to  be  no  public  spec- 
tacles, and  the  courts  of  political  meetings  (if  not 
closed  altogether  bv  superstition)  would  at  any  rate  be 
closed  in  the  ordinary  course  by  twelve  or  one  o'clock, 
nothing  remains  for  him  to  do,  before  returning  home, 
excfept  perhaps  to  attend  the  palcestra,  or  some  public 
recitation  of  a  poem  written  by  a  friend,  but  in  any 
case  to  attend  the  public  baths.  For  these  the  time 
varied ;  and  many  people  have  thought  it  tyrannical  in 
some  of  the  Caesars  that  they  imposed  restraints  on 
the  time  open  for  the  baths ;  some,  for  instance,  would 
not  suffer  them  to  open  at  all  before  two  ;  and  in  any 
case,  if  you  were  later  than  four  or  five  in  summer, 
you  would  have  to  pay  a  fine,  Avhich  most  effectually 
cleaned  out  the  baths  of  all  raff,  since  it  was  a  sum 
that  John  Quires  could  not  have  produced  to  save  his 
life.  But  it  should  be  considered  that  the  emperoi 
was  the  steward  of  the  public  resources  for  maintain- 
ing the  baths  in  fuel,  oil,  attendance,  repairs.  And 
certain  it  is,  that  during  the  long  peace  of  the  firsi 
Cajsars,  and  after  the  annonarici  provisio  (that  great 
pledge  of  popularity  to  a  Roman  j^rince)  had  been  in- 
creased by  the  corn  tribute  from  the  Nile,  the  Roman 
population  took  a  vast  expansion  ahead.  The  subse- 
quent increase  of  baths,  whilst  no  old  ones  were 
neglected,  proves  that  decisively.  And  as  citizenship 
•xpanded  by  means  of  the  easy  terms  on  which  it 
ould  be  had,  so  did  the  bathers  multiply.  The  poou- 
lation  of  Rome  in  the    entury  after  Augustus,  wa.s  fai 


512  DINNEE,    KEAL,    AKD    REP0TBD. 

greater  than  during  that  era ;  and  this,  stUl  acting  «. 
a  vortex  to  the  rest  of  the  world,  may  have  been  one 
great  motive  with  Constantine  for  translating  the  capi- 
tal eastwards ;  in  realitj',  for  breaking  up  one  monstei 
capital  into  two  of  more  manageable  dimensions.  Two 
o'clock  was  sometimes  the  earliest  hour  at  which  the 
public  baths  were  opened.  But  ?n  Martial's  time  a 
man  could  go  without  blushing  {salvd  fronte)  at  eleven  ; 
though  even  then  two  o'clock  was  the  meridian  hour 
for  the  great  uproar  of  splashing,  and  swimming,  and 
'  larking '  in  the  endless  baths  of  endless  Rome. 

And  now,  at  last,  bathing  finished,  and  the  exercises 
of  the  pal(Bstra,  at  half-past  two,  or  three,  our  friend 
finds  his  way  home  —  not  again  to  leave  it  for  that 
day.  He  is  now  a  new  man ;  refreshed,  oiled  with 
perfumes,  his  dust  washed  ofi"  by  hot  water,  and  ready 
for  enjoyment.  These  were  the  things  that  deter- 
mined the  time  for  dinner.  Had  there  been  no  other 
proof  that  ccena  was  the  Roman  dinner,  this  is  an  am- 
ple one.  Now  first  the  Roman  was  fit  for  dinner,  in  a 
condition  of  luxurious  ease  ;  business  over  —  that  day's 
oad  of  anxiety  laid  aside  —  his  cuticle,  as  he  delighted 
to  talk,  cleansed  and  polished  —  nothing  more  to  do 
or  to  think  of  until  the  next  morning :  he  might  now 
go  and  dine,  and  get  drunk  with  a  safe  conscience, 
Besides,  if  he  does  not  get  dinner  now,  when  will  he 
^et  it  ?  For  most  demonstrably  he  has  taken  nothing 
yet  which  comes  near  in  value  to  that  basin  of  soup 
which  many  of  ourselves  take  at  the  Roman  hour  of 
bathing.  No;  we  have  kept  our  man  fasting  as  yet. 
It  is  to  be  hoped,  that  something  is  coming  at  last. 

Yes,  something  is  coming;  dinner  is  coming,  the 
l^eat  meal  of  '  caena ; '  the  meal  sacred  to  hospitalit'p 


DINNEK,    REAL,    AND    REPUTED.  Ltl3 

and  genial  pleasure  cimes  now  to  fiU  ip  the  rest  of 
the  day,  until  light  fails  altogether. 

Many  people  are  of  opinion  that  the  Romans  cnly 
anderstood  what  the  capabilities  of  dinner  were.  It  is 
certain  that  they  were  the  first  great  people  that  dis- 
covered the  true  secret  and  meaning  of  dinner,  the 
great  office  which  it  fulfils,  and  which  we  in  England 
are  now  so  generally  acting  on.  Barbarous  nations  — 
and  none  were,  in  that  respect,  more  barbarous  than 
our  own  ancestors  —  made  this  capital  blunder :  the 
brutes,  if  you  asked  them  what  was  the  use  of  dinner, 
what  it  Avas  meant  for,  stared  at  you,  and  replied  —  as 
a  horse  would  reply,  if  you  put  the  same  question 
about  his  provender  —  that  it  was  to  give  him  strength 
for  finishing  his  work  !  Therefore,  if  you  point  your 
telescope  back  to  antiquity  about  twelve  or  one  o'clock 
in  the  daytime,  you  will  descry  our  most  Avorthy  an- 
cestors all  eating  for  their  very  lives,  eating  as  dogs 
eat  —  viz.,  in  bodily  fear  that  some  other  dog  will 
come  and  take  their  dinner  away.  What  swelling  of 
the  veins  in  the  temples  (see  Boswell's  natural  history 
of  Dr.  Johnson  at  dinner)  !  what  intense  and  rapid 
deglutition  !  what  odious  clatter  of  knives  and  plates  ! 
what  silence  of  the  human  voice  !  what  gravity  !  what 
fury  in  the  libidinous  eyes  with  which  they  contem- 
plate the  dishes  !  Positively  it  was  an  indecent  spec- 
tacle to  see  Dr.  Johnson  at  dinner.  But,  above  all, 
tv'hat  maniacal  haste  and  hurry,  as  if  the  fiend  were 
«-aiting  with  red-hot  pincers  to  lay  hold  of  the  hind- 
"jrmost  ! 

Oh,  reader,  do  you  recognize  in  this  abominable 
.icture  your  respected  ancestors  and  ours  ?  Excuse 
ne  for  saying,  •  What  moisters  ! '     T  have  a  right  to 

33 


514  DINNER,    REAL,    AND    REPtlTED. 

cjall  my  own  ancestors  monsters  ;  and,  if  so,  I  must 
have  the  same  ngnt  over  yours.  For  Soutliey  has  shown 
plainly  in  the  '  Doctor,'  that  every  man  having  foiii 
grandparents  in  the  second  stage  of  ascent,  conse- 
quently (since  each  of  those  four  will  have  had  four 
grandparents)  sixteen  in  the  third  stage,  consequently 
sixty-four  in  the  fourth,  consequently  two  hundred 
and  fifty-six  in  the  fifth,  and  so  on,  it  follows  that, 
long  before  you  get  to  the  Conquest,  every  man  and 
woman  then  living  in  England  will  be  wanted  to  make 
up  the  sum  of  my  separate  ancestors  ;  consequently 
you  must  take  your  ancestors  out  of  the  very  same 
fund,  or  (if  you  are  too  proud  for  that)  you  must  go 
without  ancestors.  So  that,  your  ancestors  being 
clearly  mine,  I  have  a  right  in  law  to  call  the  whole 
'  kit '  of  them  monsters.  Quod  erat  demonstrandum. 
Really  and  upon  my  honor,  it  makes  one,  for  the  mo- 
ment, ashamed  of  one's  descent ;  one  would  wish  to 
disinherit  one's-self  backwards,  and  (as  Sheridan  says 
in  the  '  Rivals  ')  to  '  cut  the  connection.'  Wordsworth^ 
has  an  admirable  picture  in  '  Peter  Bell '  of  '  a  snug 
party  in  a  parlor  '  removed  into  limbus  patrum  for  therr 
offences  in  the  flesh  :  — 

♦  Cramming  aa  they  on  earth  were  cramm'd 
All  sipping  wine,  all  sipping  tea  ; 
But,  as  you  by  their  faces  see, 
All  silent,  and  all  d d.' 

How  well  does  that  one  word  silent  describe  those 
Venerable  ancestral  dinners  —  '  All  silent ! '  Contrast 
this  infernal  silence  of  voice,  and  fury  of  eye,  with  tho 

risus  amhilis,^  the  festivity,  the  social  kindness,  the 
lausic,    the  wine,   the   '  dulcis  insania,^  of  a  Roman 

CiBna.'  I  mentioned  four  tests  for  determining  what 
*  [By  a  wicked  slip  for  Shelley.] 


DINNEK,  REAL,  AND  EEPUTED.         515 

meal  is,  and  what  is  not,  dinner  :  we  may  no  w  add  a 
fifth  —  viz.,  the  spirit  of  festal  joy  and  elegant  enjoy- 
ment, of  anxiety  laid  aside,  and  of  honorable  social 
pleasure  put  on  like  a  marriage  garment. 

And  what  caused  the  difference  between  our  ances- 
tors and  the  Romans  ?  Simply  this  —  the  erroi  of  'n- 
terposing  dinner  in  the  middle  of  business,  thus  court- 
ing all  the  breezes  of  angry  feeling  that  may  happen  to 
blow  from  the  business  yet  to  come,  instead  of  finish- 
ing, absolutely  closing,  the  account  with  this  world's 
troubles  before  you  sit  down.  That  unhappy  in- 
terpolation ruined  all.  Dinner  was  an  ugly  little 
parenthesis  between  two  still  uglier  clauses  of  a  tee- 
totally  ugly  sentence.  Whereas,  with  us,  their  enlight- 
ened posterity,  to  whom  they  have  the  honor  to  be 
ancestors,  dinner  is  a  great  re-action.  There  lies  my 
conception  of  the  matter.  It  grew  out  of  the  very  ex- 
cess of  the  evil.  When  business  was  moderate,  dinner 
«'as  allowed  to  divide  and  bisect  it.  When  it  swelled 
into  that  vast  strife  and  agony,  as  one  may  call  it,  that 
boils  along  the  tortured  streets  of  modern  London  or 
other  capitals,  men  begin  to  see  the  necessity  of  an 
adequate  counter-force  to  push  against  this  overwhelm- 
ing torrent,  and  thus  maintain  the  equilibrium.  Were 
it  not  for  the  soft  relief  of  a  six  o'clock  dinner,  the 
gentle  demeanor  succeeding  to  the  boisterous  hubbub 
of  the  day,  the  soft  glowing  lights,  the  wine,  the  Intel  • 
lectual  conversation,  life  in  London  is  now  come  to 
luch  a  pass,  that  in  two  years  all  nerves  would  sink 
oefore  it.  But  for  this  periodic  re-action,  the  m(  dcra 
Dueiness  which  draws  so  cruelly  on  the  brain,  and  so 
fittle  on  the  hands,  would  overthrow  that  organ  in  alj 
but   those   of  coarse    or";aniza'i,:n.       Dinner   it    iii 


516  DINNER,    REAL,    AND    REPUTBD. 

meaning  by  dinner  the  whole  complexity,  of  attendant 
circumstances  —  which  saves  the  modern  brain-work- 
ing man  from  going  mad. 

This  revolution  as  to  dinner  was  the  greatest  in 
virtue  and  value  ever  accomplished.  In  fact,  those 
axe  always  the  most  operative  revolutions  which  are 
brought  about  through  social  or  domestic  changes.  A 
nation  must  be  barbarous,  neither  could  it  have  much 
intellectual  business,  which  dined  in  the  morning. 
They  could  not  be  at  ease  in  the  morning.  So  much 
must  be  granted :  every  day  has  its  separate  quantum, 
its  dose  of  anxiety,  that  could  not  be  digested  as  soon 
noon.  No  man  will  say  it.  He,  therefore,  who  dined 
at  noon,  showed  himself  willing  to  sit  down  squalid 
as  he  was,  with  his  dress  unchanged,  his  cares  not 
washed  off.  And  what  follows  from  that  r  Why,  that 
to  him,  to  such  a  canine  or  cynical  specimen  of  the 
genus  homo,  dinner  existed  only  as  a  physical  event,  a 
mere  animal  relief,  a  purely  carnal  enjoyment.  For  in 
what,  I  demand,  did  this  fleshly  creature  differ  from 
the  carrion  crow,  or  the  kite,  or  the  vulture,  or  the 
cormorant  ?  A  French  judge,  in  an  action  upon  a  wa- 
ger, laid  it  down  as  law,  that  man  only  had  a  bouche, 
all  other  animals  a  gueule  :  only  with  regard  to  the 
horse,  in  consideration  of  his  beauty,  nobility,  use, 
and  in  honor  of  the  respect  with  which  man  regarded 
him,  by  the  courtesy  of  Christendom,  he  might  be 
nllowed  to  have  a  louche,  and  his  reproach  of  brutality, 
'f  not  taken  away,  might  thus  be  hidden.  But  purely, 
pf  the  rabid  animal  who  is  caught  dining  at  noonday; 
4he  homo  ferns,  who  affronts  the  meridian  sun  like 
I'hysstes  and  Atreus,  by  his  inhuman  meals,  wo  are 
by  parity  of  reason ,  entitled  to  say,  that  he  has  a  '  nvaw 


BINNEK,  BEAL,  A.ND  KEPVTED.         5l7 

[80  has  Milton's  Death),  but  nothing  rfiserabling  a 
stomach.  And  to  this  vile  man  a  philosopher  would 
say  — '  Go  away,  sir,  and  come  back  to  me  two  or 
three  centuries  hence,  when  you  have  learned  to  be  a 
reasonable  creature,  and  to  make  that  physico-intellec- 
tual  thing  out  of  dinner  which  it  was  meant  to  be,  and 
is  capable  of  becoming.'  In  Henry  VII. 's  time  the 
court  dined  at  eleven  in  the  forenoon.  But  even  that 
hour  was  considered  so  shockingly  late  in  the  French 
court,  that  Louis  XII.  actually  had  his  gray  hairs 
brought  down  with  sorrow  to  the  grave,  by  changing 
his  regular  hour  of  half-past  nine  for  eleven,  in  gallan- 
try to  his  young  English  bride. ^"^  He  fell  a  victim  to 
late  hours  in  the  forenoon.  In  Cromwell's  time  they 
dined  at  one  p.  m.  One  century  and  a  half  had  car- 
ried them  on  by  two  hours.  Doubtless,  old  cooks  and 
scullions  wondered  what  the  world  would  come  to 
next.  Our  French  neighbors  were  in  the  same  pre- 
dicament. But  they  far  surpassed  us  in  veneration 
for  the  meal.  They  actually  dated  from  it.  Dinner 
constituted  the  great  era  of  the  day.  h'apres  diner  is 
almost  the  sole  date  which  you  find  in  Cardinal  De 
Retz's  memoirs  of  the  Fronde.  Dinner  was  their  Hc' 
gira  —  dinner  was  their  line  in  traversing  the  ocean  of 
day  :  they  crossed  the  equator  when  they  dined.  Our 
English  Revolution  came  next ;  it  made  some  little 
difference,  I  have  heard  people  say,  in  church  and 
btate  ;  I  dare-say  it  did,  like  enough,  but  its  great 
effects  were  perceived  in  dinner.  People  now  dine  al 
two.  So  dined  Addison  for  his  last  thirty  years  ;  so, 
through  his  entire  life,  dined  P'>pe.  whose  birth  waa 
|oe\al  with  the  Revolution.  Preusely  as  the  Rcbel- 
io'^  of  1 745  arose,  did  people  (but  observe,  very  great 


518  DINNER,    REAL,    AND    REPITTED. 

people)  advance  to  four  p.m.  Philosophers,  who  watcb 
the  '  semina  rerum,'  and  the  first  symptoms  of  change, 
had  perceived  this  alteration  singing  in  the  upper  aii 
like  a  coming  storm  some  little  time  before.  About 
the  year  1740,  Pope  complains  of  Lady  Suffolk's 
dining  so  late  as  four.  Young  people  may  bear  those 
things,  he  observed ;  but  as  to  himself,  now  turned  of 
fifty,  if  such  things  went  on,  if  Lady  Suflblk  Avould 
adopt  such  strange  hours,  he  must  really  absent  him- 
self from  Marble  Hill.  Lady  Suffolk  had  a  right  to 
please  herself;  he  himself  loved  her.  But,  if  she 
would  persist,  all  which  remained  for  a  decayed  poet 
was  respectfully  to  cut  his  stick,  and  retire.  Whether 
Pope  ever  put  up  with  four  o'clock  dinners  again,  I 
have  vainly  sought  to  fathom.  Some  things  advance 
continuously,  like  a  flood  or  afire,  which  always  make 
an  end  of  A,  eat  and  digest  it,  before  they  go  on  to 
B.  Other  things  advance  per  saltum  —  they  do  not 
silently  cancer  their  way  onwards,  but  lie  as  still  as  a 
snake  after  they  have  made  some  notable  conquest, 
then,  when  unobserved,  they  make  themselves  up  '  for 
mischief,'  and  take  a  flying  bound  onwards.  Thus 
advanced  Dinner,  and  by  these  fits  got  into  the  terri- 
tory of  evening.  And  ever  as  it  made  a  motion  on- 
wards, it  found  the  nation  more  civilized  (else  the 
change  could  not  have  been  effected),  and  co-operated 
'n  raising  them  to  a  still  higher  civilization.  The  next 
relay  on  that  line  of  road,  the  next  repeating  frigate, 
is  Cowper  in  his  poem  on  '  Conversation.'  He  speaks 
of  four  o'clock  as  still  the  elegant  hour  for  dinner  — 
the  hour  for  the  lautiores  and  the  lepidi  homines 
Now  this  might  be  written  about  1780,  or  a  little 
eaxliet ;  perhaps,  therefore,  just  one   generation   aftei 


DINNJEH,    REAL,    AND    BEPUTED,  519 

Pope's  Lady  Suffolk.  But  then  Cowper  was  living 
imongst  the  rural  gentry,  not  in  high  life  ;  yet,  again, 
Cowper  was  nearly  connected  by  blood  with  the  emi- 
nent Whig  house  of  Cowper,  and  acknowledged  as  a 
kinsman.  About  twenty-five  years  after  this,  we  may 
take  Oxford  as  a  good  exponent  of  the  national  ad- 
vance. As  a  magnificent  body  of  '  foundations,'  en- 
dowed by  kings,  nursed  by  queens,  and  resorted  to  by 
the  flower  of  the  national  youth,  Oxford  ought  to  be 
elegant  and  even  splendid  in  her  habits.  Yet,  on  the 
other  hand,  as  a  grave  seat  of  learning,  and  feeling  the 
weight  of  her  position  in  the  commonwealth,  she  is 
slow  to  move  ;  she  is  inert  as  she  should  be,  having 
the  functions  of  resistance  assigned  to  her  against  the 
popular  instinct  (surely  active  enough)  of  movement. 
Now,  in  Oxford,  about  1804-5,  there  was  a  general 
move  in  the  dinner  hour.  Those  colleges  who  dined 
Bt  three,  of  which  there  were  still  several,  now  began  to 
dine  at  four :  those  who  had  dined  at  four,  now  trans- 
lated their  hour  to  five.  These  continued  good  general 
hours  till  about  Waterloo.  After  that  era,  six,  which 
had  been  somewhat  of  a  gala  hour,  was  promoted  to  the 
fixed  station  of  dinner-time  in  ordinary ;  and  there 
perhaps  it  will  rest  through  centuries.  For  a  more 
festal  dinner,  seven,  eight,  nine,  ten,  have  all  been  in 
requisition  since  then ;  but  I  am  not  aware  of  any 
man's  habitually  dining  later  than  ten  p.  m.,  except 
In  that  classical  case  recorded  by  Mr.  Joseph  Miller, 
of  an  Irishman  who  must  have  dined  much  later  than 
ten,  because  his  servant  protested,  when  others  were 
tnforcing  the  dignity  of  their  masters  by  the  lateness 
»f  their  dinner  hours,  that  his  master  invariably  dined 
!o  morrow.' 


520  DINNER,    KEAL,    AND    REPUTED. 

Were  the  Romans  not  as  barbarous  as  our  own  an- 
cestors at  one  time  ?  Most  certainly  they  were ;  in 
their  primitive  ages  they  took  their  ccena  at  noon,^*" 
that  was  before  they  had  laid  aside  their  barbarism ; 
before  they  shaved;  it  was  during  their  barbarism, 
and  in  consequence  of  their  barbarism,  that  they  timed 
their  coma  thus  unseasonably.  And  this  is  made  evi- 
dent by  the  fact,  that,  so  long  as  they  erred  in  the 
hour,  they  erred  in  the  attending  circumstances.  At 
this  period  they  had  no  music  at  dinner,  no  festal 
graces,  and  no  reposing  on  sofas.  They  sat  bolt  up- 
right in  chairs,  and  were  as  grave  as  our  ancestors,  as 
rabid,  as  libidinous  in  ogling  the  dishes,  and  doubtless 
as  furiously  in  haste. 

With  us  the  revolution  has  been  equally  complex. 
We  do  not,  indeed,  adopt  the  luxurious  attitude  of 
semi-recumbency ;  our  climate  makes  that  less  requi- 
site ;  and,  moreover,  the  Romans  had  no  knives  and 
forks,  which  could  scarcely  be  used  in  that  recumbent 
posture  ;  they  ate  with  their  fingers  from  dishes  already 
cut  up  —  whence  the  peculiar  force  of  Seneca's  '  post 
quod  non  sunt  lavandae  manus.'  But,  exactly  in  propor- 
tion as  our  dinner  has  advanced  towards  evening,  have 
we  and  has  that  advanced  in  circumstances  of  elegance, 
of  taste,  of  intellectual  value.  This  by  itself  would  be 
much.  Infinite  would  be  the  gain  for  any  people,  that 
it  had  ceas<^d  to  be  brutal,  animal,  fleshly ;  ceased  to 
regard  the  chief  meal  of  the  day  as  a  ministration  only 
o  an  animal  necessity  ;  that  they  had  raised  it  to  a 
higher  office  ;  associated  it  mth  social  and  humanizing 
feelings,  with  manners,  with  graces  moral  and  intel- 
lectual :  moral  ip.  the  self-restraint ;  intellectual  in  the 
fact,  notorious  to  all  men,  that  the  chief  arenas  for  the 


DINNEH,    BEAL,    AND    REPUTED.  521 

sa$y  display  of  intellectual  power  are  at  our  dinner  ta- 
bles. But  dinner  has  now  even  a  greater  function  than 
this ;  as  the  fervor  of  our  day's  business  increases, 
dinner  is  continually  more  needed  in  its  office  of  a 
great  re-action.  I  repeat  that,  at  this  moment,  but  for 
the  daily  relief  of  dinner,  the  brain  of  all  men  Mho 
mix  in  the  strife  of  capitals  would  be  unhinged  and 
thrown  off  its  centre. 

If  we  should  suppose  the  case  of  a  nation  taking 
three  equidistant  meals,  all  of  the  same  material  and 
the  same  quantity  —  all  milk,  for  instance,  all  bread, 
or  all  rice  —  it  would  be  impossible  for  Thomas 
Aquinas  himself  to  say  which  was  or  was  not  dinner. 
The  case  would  be  that  of  the  Roman  ancile  which 
dropped  from  the  skies ;  to  prevent  its  ever  being 
stolen,  the  priests  made  eleven  facsimiles  of  it,  in 
order  that  a  thief,  seeing  the  hopelessness  of  distin- 
guishing the  true  one,  might  let  all  alone.  And  the 
result  was,  that,  in  the  next  generation,  nobody  could 
point  to  the  true  one.  But  our  dinner,  the  Roman 
coma,  is  distinguished  from  the  rest  by  far  more  than 
the  hour  ;  it  is  distinguished  by  great  functions,  and 
by  still  greater  capacities.  It  is  already  most  benefi- 
cial ;  if  it  saves  (as  I  say  it  does)  the  nation  from 
madness,  it  may  become  more  so. 

In  saying  this,  I  point  to  the  lighter  graces  of  music, 
and  conversation  more  varied,  by  which  the  Roman 
coena  was  chiefly  distinguished  from  our  dinner.  I  am 
far  from  agreeing  with  Mr.  Croly,  that  the  Roman 
meal  was  more  '  intellectual '  tiian  ours.  On  the  con- 
trary, ours  is  the  more  intellec*^^ual  by  much  ;  we  have 
Ear  greater  knowledge,  far  greater  means  for  making  it 
4ucb.     In  fact,  the  fault  of  our  meal  is—  that  it  is  to* 


622  DINNEB,    HEAL,    AND    BEPUIED. 

intellectudl ;  of  too  severe  a  character  ;  too  political ; 
lOO  much  tending,  in  many  hands,  to  disquisition. 
Reciprocation  of  question  and  answer,  variety  of  topics, 
shifting  of  topics,  are  points  not  sufficiently  cultivated. 
In  all  else  I  assent  to  the  following  passage  from  Mi, 
Croly'g  eloquent  '  Salathiel : '  — 

'  If  an  ancient  Roman  could  start  from  his  slumbei 
into  the  midst  of  European  life,  he  must  look  with 
Bcorn  on  its  absence  of  grace,  elegance,  and  fancy. 
But  it  is  in  its  festivity,  and  most  of  all  in  its  banquets, 
that  he  would  feel  the  incurable  barbarism  of  the 
Gothic  blood.  Contrasted  with  the  fine  displays  that 
made  the  table  of  the  Roman  noble  a  picture,  and 
threw  over  the  indulgence  of  appetite  the  colors  of  the 
imagination,  with  what  eyes  must  he  contemplate  the 
tasteless  and  commonplace  dress,  the  coarse  attendants, 
the  meagre  ornament,  the  want  of  mirth,  music,  and 
intellectual  interest  —  the  whole  heavy  machinery  that 
converts  the  feast  into  the  mere  drudgery  of  devour- 
ing! ' 

Thus  far  the  reader  knoAvs  already  that  I  dissent 
violently ;  and  by  looking  back  he  will  see  a  picture 
of  our  ancestors  at  dinner,  in  which  they  rehearse  the 
very  part  in  relation  to  ourselves,  that  Mr.  Croly  sup- 
poses all  moderns  to  rehearse  in  relation  to  the  Ro- 
mans ;  but  in  the  rest  of  the  beautiful  description,  the 
positive,  though  not  the  comparative  part,  we  must  all 
concur : — 

'  The  guests  before  me  were  fifty  or  sixty  splendidly 
dressed  men'  (they  were  in  fact  Titus  and  his  staff, 
then  occupied  with  the  siege  of  Jerusalem),  '  attended 
by  a  crowd  of  domestics,  attired  with  scarcely  lesj 
splendor ;  for  no  man  thought  of  coming  to  the  bai> 


BINXJEH,    B£AL,    AND    REPUIBD.  523 

ijiiet  in  the  robes  of  ordinary  life.  The  embroidered 
couches,  themselves  striking  objects,  allowed  the  ease 
of  position  at  once  delightful  in  the  relaxing  climates 
of  the  south,  and  capable  of  combining  with  every 
grace  of  the  human  figure.  At  a  slight  distance,  the 
table  loaded  with  plate  glittering  under  a  profusion  of 
lamps,  and  surrounded  by  couches  thus  covered  by 
rich  draperies,  was  like  a  central  source  of  light  radiat- 
ing in  broad  shafts  of  every  brilliant  hue.  The  wealth 
of  the  patricians,  and  their  intercourse  with  the  Greeks, 
made  them  masters  of  the  first  performances  of  the 
arts.  Copies  of  the  most  famous  statues,  and  groups 
of  sculpture  in  the  precious  metals ;  trophies  of  victo- 
ries ;  models  of  temples,  were  mingled  with  vases  of 
flowers  and  lighted  perfumes.  Finally,  covering  and 
closing  all,  was  a  vast  scarlet  canopy,  which  combined 
the  groups  beneath  to  the  eye,  and  threw  the  whole 
into  the  form  that  a  painter  would  love.' 

Mr.  Croly  then  goes  on  to  insist  on  the  intellectual 
embellishments  of  the  Roman  dinner  ;  their  variety, 
their  grace,  their  adaptation  to  a  festive  purpose.  The 
truth  is,  our  English  imagination,  more  profound  than 
the  Roman,  is  also  more  gloomy,  less  gay,  less  riante. 
That  accounts  for  our  want  of  the  gorgeous  triclinium, 
with  its  scarlet  draperies,  and  for  many  other  differ- 
(.  ices  both  to  the  eye  and  to  the  understanding.  But 
both  we  and  the  Romans  agree  in  the  main  point : 
we  both  discovered  the  true  purpose  which  dinner 
•night  serve — 1,  to  throw  the  grace  of  intellectual 
enjoyment  over  an  animal  necessity  ;  2,  to  relieve  and 
-o  meet  by  a  benign  antagonism  the  toil  of  brain  inci- 
Jent  to  high  forms  of  social  life. 

My  object  has  been  to  point  the  eye  to  this  fact ;  tc 


524  JDINNEE,    BEAL,    AND    BEPTJTED. 

Bhow  uses  imperfectly  suspected  in  a  recurring  accident 
of  life  ;  to  show  a  steady  tendency  to  that  consumma- 
tion, by  holding  up,  as  in  a  mirror,  a  series  of  changes, 
corresponding  to  our  own  series  with  regard  to  the 
same  chief  meal,  silently  going  on  in  a  great  people  of 
tntiquity 


TOILETTE  OF  THE  HEBREW  LADY. 

EXHIBITED  IN  SIX  SCENEa 


To  the  Editor  of  a  great  Literary  Journal. 

SiK,  —  Some  years  ago  you  published  a  translatior 
of  Bottiger's  Sabina,  a  learned  account  of  the  Roman 
toilette.  I  here  send  you  a  companion  to  that  work, 
—  not  a  direct  translation,  but  a  very  minute  abstract 
[weeded  of  that  wordiness  which  has  made  the  original 
unreadable,  and  therefore  unread]  from  a  similar  dis- 
sertation by  Hartmann  on  the  toilette  and  the  ward- 
robe of  the  ladies  of  ancient  Palestine.  Hartmaiui 
was  a  respectable  Oriental  scholar,  and  he  published 
his  researches,  which  occupy  three  thick  octavos,  mak- 
ing in  all  one  thousand  four  hundred  and  eighty-eight 
pages,  under  the  title  of  Die  Hehrderin  am  Putztische 
und  ah  Braut,  Amsterdam,  1809  {The  Hebrew  Woman 
at  her  Toilette,  and  in  her  Bridal  Character).  I 
understand  that  the  poor  man  is  now  gone  to  Hades, 
where,  let  us  hope,  that  it  is  considered  by  Minos  or 
Rhadamanthus  no  crime  in  a  learned  man  to  be  exceed- 
ingly tedious,  and  to  repeat  the  same  thing  ten  times 
over,  or  even,  upon  occasion,  fifteen  times,  provided 
that  his  own  upright  heart  should  incline  him  to  think 
that  course  the  most  advisable.  Certainly  Mr.  Hart- 
mann has  the  most  excellent  gifts  at  verbal  expansion, 
»nd  talents  the  most  splendid  for  tautology,  that  eve? 


526  TOILETTE    OF    THE    HEBREW    LADT. 

came  within  my  knowledge  ;  and  I  have  found  no 
particular  difficulty  in  compressing  every  tittle  of  what 
relates  to  his  subject  into  a  compass  which,  I  imagine, 
will  fill  about  one-twenty-eighth  part  at  the  utmost 
of  the  original  work. 

It  was  not  to  be  expected,  with  the  scanty  materials 
before  him,  that  an  illustrator  of  the  Hebrew  costume 
should  be  as  full  and  explicit  as  Bottiger,  with  the 
advantage  of  writing  upon  a  theme  more  familiar  to 
us  Europeans  of  this  day  than  any  parallel  theme  even 
in  our  own  national  archaeologies  of  two  centuries 
back.  United,  however,  with  his  great  reading,  this 
barrenness  of  the  subject  is  so  far  an  advantage  for 
Hartmann,  as  it  yields  a  strong  presumption  that  he 
has  exhausted  it.  The  male  costume  of  ancient  Pal- 
estine is  yet  to  be  illustrated  ;  but  for  the  female,  it  is 
probable  that  little  could  be  added  to  what  Hartmann 
has  collected ;  *  and  that  any  clever  dress-maker 
would,  with  the  indications  here  given,  enable  any 
lady  at  the  next  great  masquerade  in  London  to  sup- 

*  It  is  one  great  advantage  to  the  illustrator  of  ancient  cos- 
tume, that  when  almost  everything  in  this  sort  of  usages  was 
fixed  and  determined  either  by  religion  and  state  policy  (as  with 
the  Jews),  or  by  state  policy  alone  (as  with  the  Romans),  or  by 
ftuperstition  and  by  settled  climate  (as  with  both) ;  and  when 
there  was  no  stimulation  to  vanity  in  the  love  of  change  from 
un.  inventive  condition  of  art  and  manufacturing  skill,  and 
where  the  system  and  interests  of  the  government  relied  for  no 
part  of  its  power  on  such  a  condition,  dress  was  stationary  for 
•iges,  both  as  to  materials  and  fashion;  Rebecca,  the  Bedouin, 
was  dressed  pretty  nearly  as  Mariamne,  the  wife  of  Ilerod,  in  th« 
age  of  the  Cassars.  And  thus  the  labors  of  a  learned  investi- 
gator for  one  age  are  valid  for  many  which  follow  and  precede 


TOILETTE    OF    THE    nEBREW    LADY.  527 

port  the  part  of  one  of  the  ancient  daughters  of  Pales- 
tine, and  to  call  back,  after  eighteen  centuries  of  sleep, 
the  buried  pomps  of  Jerusalem.  As  to  the  talking, 
there  would  be  no  difficulty  at  all  in  that  point; 
bishops  and  other  "  sacred  "  people,  if  they  ever  go 
fc-masf[uing,  for  their  own  sakes  will  not  be  likely  to 
betray  themselves  by  putting  impertinent  questions  in 
Hebrew  ;  and  for  "  profane  "  people  like  myself,  who 
might  like  the  impertinence,  they  would  very  much 
dislike  the  Hebrew  ;  indeed,  of  uncircumcised  He- 
brews, barring  always  the  clergy,  it  is  not  thought  that 
any  are  extant.  In  other  respects,  and  as  a  spectacle, 
the  Hebrew  masque  would  infallibly  eclipse  every 
other  in  the  room.  The  upper  and  under  chemise,  if 
managed  properly  (and  either  you  or  I,  Mr.  Editor, 
will  be  most  proud  to  communicate  our  private  advice 
on  that  subject  without  tee  or  pot-de-vin,  as  the  French 
style  a  bribe),  would  transcend,  in  gorgeous  display, 
the  coronation  robes  of  queens  ;  nose-pendants  would 
cause  the  masque  to  be  immediately  and  unerringly 
recognized  ;  or  if  those  were  not  thought  advisable, 
the  silver  ankle-bells,  with  their  melodious  chimes  — 
the  sandals  with  their  jewelled  network — and  the 
golden  diadem,  binding  the  forehead,  and  dropping 
from  each  extremity  of  the  polished  temples  a  rouleau 
pf  pearls,  which,  after  traversing  the  cheeks,  unite 
below  the  chin,  —  are  all  so  unique  and  exclusively 
Hebraic,  that  each  and  all  would  have  thp  same  ad- 
vantageous effect ;  prorlaiming  and  notifying  the  char- 
vcter,  without  putting  the  fair  supporter  to  any  dis- 
agreeable expense  of  Hebrew  or  Chaldee.  The  silver 
bells  alone  would  "  bear  the  bell  "  from  evrry  compet 


528  iOlLETTE    OF    THE    HEBREW    LADY. 

tor  in  the  room ;  and  she  miglit,  besides,  curry  a 
r-ymbal,  a  diilcimer,  or  a  timbrel  in  ber  bands. 

In  conclusion,  my  dear  sir,  let. me  congratulate  you 
that  Mr.  Hartmann  is  now  in  Hades  (as  I  said  before) 

rather  than  in ;  for,  bad  be   been  in    this   iattei 

place,  he  would  have  been  the  ruin  of  you.  It  was 
his  intention,  as  I  am  well  assured,  just  about  the  time 
that  he  took  his  flight  for  Elysium,  to  have  commenced 
regular  contributor  to  your  journal ;  so  great  was  hia 
admiration  of  you,  and  also  of  the  terms  which  you 
offer  to  the  literary  world.  As  a  learned  Orientalist, 
you  could  not  decorously  have  rejected  him  ;  and  yet, 
once  admitted,  he  would  have  beggared  you  before  any 
means  could  have  been  discovered  by  the  learned  for 
putting  a  stop  to  him.  y^TtSQavzoXoyia,  or  what  may  be 
translated  literally  world-without-ending-ness,  was  his 
forte  ;  upon  this  he  piqued  himself,  and  most  justly, 
since  for  covering  the  ground  rapidly,  and  yet  Jiot  ad- 
vancing an  inch,  those  who  knew  and  valued  him  as 
he  deserved  would  have  backed  him  against  the  whole 
field  of  the  gens  de  plume  now  in  Europe.  Had  he 
lived,  and  fortunately  for  himself  communicated  his 
Hebrew  Toilette  to  the  world  through  you,  instead  of 
foundering  (as  he  did)  at  Amsterdam,  he  would  have 
flourished  upon  your  exchequer  ;  and  you  would  not 
have  heard  the  last  of  him  or  his  Toilette  for  the  next 
twenty  years.  He  dates,  you  see,  from  Amsterdam  ; 
jmd,  had  you  been  weak  enough  to  take  him  on  board, 
he  would  have  proved  that  "  Flying  Dutchman"  that 
would  infallibly  have  sunk  your  vessel. 

The   more   is  your  obligation  to   me,   I  think,   fo 
sweating:  him  down  to  such  slender  dimensions.    Ana 


TOILETTE    or    THE    HEBREW    LADY.  529 

speaking  seriously,  both  of  us  perhaps  will  rejoice  that, 
even  with  his  talents  for  telling  everything,  he  was 
obliged  on  this  subject  to  leave  many  things  untold. 
For,  though  it  might  be  gratifying  to  a  mere  interest 
of  curiosity,  yet  I  believe  that  we  should  both  be 
grieved  if  anything  were  to  unsettle  in  our  feelings  the 
mysterious  sanctities  of  Jerusalem,  or  to  disturb  that 
awful  twilight  which  will  forever  brood  over  Judea  — 
by  letting  in  upon  it  the  "  common  light  of  day  ;  "  and 
this  effect  would  infallibly  take  place,  if  any  one  de- 
partment of  daily  life,  as  it  existed  in  Judea,  were 
brought,  with  all  the  degrading  minutiae  of  its  details, 
within  the  petty  finishing  of  a  domestic  portrait. 

Farewell,  my  dear  Sir,  and  believe  me  always  your 
devoted  servant  and  admirer, 

a.   0 

SCENE    THE    FIRST. 

1.  That  simple  body-cloth,  framed  of  leaves,  skins, 
flax,  wool,  &c.,  which  modesty  had  first  introduced, 
for  many  centuries  perhaps  sufficed  as  the  common  at- 
tire of  both  sexes  amongst  the  Hebrew  Bedouins.  It 
extended  downwards  to  the  knees,  and  upwards  to  the 
hips,  about  which  it  was  fastened.  Such  a  dress  is 
seen  upon  many  of  the  figures  in  the  sculptures  of 
Persepolis  ;  even  in  modern  times,  Niebuhr  found  it 
the  ordinary  costume  of  the  lower  Arabians  in  Hedsjas ; 
and  Shaw  assures  us,  that,  from  its  commodious  shape, 
it  is  still  a  favorite  dishabille  of  the  Arabian  women 
when  they  are  behind  the  curtains  of  the  tent. 

From  this  early  rudiment  was  denved,  by  gradual 
elongation,  that  well-knov  a  under  habiliment,  which 
34 


530  TOILETTE    OF    THE    HEBREW    LADf. 

in  Hebrew  is  called  CKtonet,  and  in  Greek  and  Latin 
by  words  of  similar  sound.*  In  this  stage  of  its  pro- 
gress, when  extended  to  the  neck  and  the  shoulders,  it 
represents  pretty  accurately  the  modern  shirt,  camisa, 
or  chemise  —  except  that  the  sleeves  are  wanting  ;  and 
during  the  first  period  of  Jewish  history  it  was  proba- 
bly worn  as  the  sole  under-garment  by  women  of  all 
ranks,  both  amongst  the  Bedouin-Hebrews  and  tho«9 
who  lived  in  cities.  A  very  little  further  extension  to 
the  elbows  and  the  calves  of  the  legs,  and  it  takes  a 
shape  which  survives  even  to  this  day  in  Asia.  Now, 
as  then,  the  female  habiliment  was  distinguished  from 
the  corresponding  male  one  by  its  greater  length ;  and 
through  all  antiquity  we  find  long  clothes  a  subject 
of  reproach  to  men,  as  an  argument  of  efi"eminacy. 

According  to  the  rank  or  vanity  of  the  wearer,  this 
tunic  was  made  of  more  or  less  costly  materials ;  for 
wool  and  flax  was  often  substituted  the  finest  byssus, 
or  other  silky  substance  ;  and  perhaps,  in  the  latter 
periods,  amongst  families  of  distinction  in  Jerusalem, 
even  silk  itself.  Splendor  of  coloring  was  not  neg- 
lected ;  and  the  opening  at  the  throat  was  eagerly 
turned  to  account  as  an  occasion  for  displaying  fringe 
or  rich  embroidery. 

Bottiger  remarks  that,  even  in  the  age  of  Augustus, 
the  morning  dress  of  Roman  ladies  when  at  home  was 
nothing   more   than   this  very  tunic,  which,  if   it  sate 

*  Chiton  (Xiro)i),  in  Greek,  and,  by  inversion  of  the  sylla- 
bles, Tunica  in  Latin;  that  is  (1.)  Chi-ton;  then  (2.)  Ton-chi 
But,  if  so,  (3.)Why  not  Ton-cha  ;  and  (4.)  Why  not  Tun-cha 
asalso  (5.)  Whjnot  Tun-i-ca.  —  Q.  E.  D.     Such   I  believe,  ifi 
the  received  derivation. 


TOILEITE    OF    THE    HEBREW    LADY.  531 

rlose,  did  not  even  require  a  girdle.  The  same  remark 
applies  to  the  Hebrew  women,  who,  during  the  nomadic 
period  of  their  history,  had  been  accustomed  to  wear 
no  night  chemises  at  all,  but  slept  quite  naked,*  or, 
at  the  utmost,  with  a  cestus  or  zone  ;  by  way  of  bed- 
clothes, however,  it  must  be  observed  that  they  swathed 
their  person  in  the  folds  of  a  robe  or  shawl.  Up  to 
the  time  of  Solomon  this  practice  obtained  through  all 
ranks,  and  so  long  the  universal  household  dress  of  a 
Hebrew  lady  in  her  harem  was  the  tunic  as  here  de- 
Bcribed  ;  and  in  this  she  dressed  herself  the  very  mo- 
ment that  she  rose  from  bed.  Indeed,  so  long  as  the 
Hebrew  women  were  content  with  a  single  tunic,  it 
flowed  loose  in  liberal  folds  about  the  body,  and  was 
fastened  by  a  belt  or  a  clasp,  just  as  we  find  it  at  this 
day  amongst  all  Asiatic  nations.  But  when  a  second 
under  garment  was  introduced,  the  inner  one  fitted 
'lose  to  the  shape,  whilst  the  outer  one  remained  full 
tnd  free  as  before. 

II.  No  fashion  of  the  female  toilette  is  of  higher 
antiquity  than  that  of  dyeing  the  margin  of  the  eye- 
lids and  the  eyebrows  with  a  black  pigment.  It  is 
mentioned  or  alluded  to,  2  Kings  ix.  30,  Jeremiah  iv. 
SO,  Ezekiel  xxiii.  40  ;  to  which  may  be  added,  Isaiah 
iii.  16.  The  practice  had  its  origin  in  a  discovery  made 
ccidentally  in  Egypt.     For  it  happens  that  the  sub- 

*  When  the  little  Scottish  king,  about  1566,  was  taken  ill  ia 
he  night  at  Holyrood,  Pinkerton  mentions  that  all  his  attend- 
ants, male  and  female,  rushed  out  into  the  adjacent  galleiy, 
naked  as  they  were  born,  and  thence  comes  the  phrase  so  often 
used  in  the  contemporary  ballads  — "  Even  aa  I  left  my  nakH 
led." 


532  TOILETTE    OF    THE    HEBREW    LADY. 

stance  used  for  this  purpose  in  ancient  times  is  i 
powerful  remedy  in  cases  of  ophthalmia  and  inflamma- 
tion of  the  eyes,  complaints  to  which  Egypt  is,  from 
local  causes,  peculiarly  exposed.  This  endemic  in- 
firmity, in  connection  with  the  medical  science  for 
which  Egypt  was  so  distinguished,  easily  accounts  foi 
their  discovering  the  uses  of  antimony,  which  is  tha 
principal  ingredient  in  the  pigments  of  this  class, 
Egypt  was  famous  for  the  fashion  of  painting  the  face 
from  an  early  period ;  and  in  some  remarkable  curiosi- 
ties illustrating  the  Egyptian  toilette,  which  were  dis- 
covered in  the  catacombs  of  Sahara  in  Middle  Egypt, 
there  was  a  single  joint  of  a  common  reed  containing 
an  ounce  or  more  of  the  coloring  powder,  and  one  oi 
the  needles  for  applying  it.  The  entire  process  was  as 
follows  :  —  The  mineral  powder,  finely  prepai'ed,  waa 
nixed  up  with  a  preparation  of  vinegar  and  gall-apples 
-—  sometimes  with  oil  of  almonds  or  other  oils  — 
sometimes,  by  very  luxurious  women,  with  costly  gums 
and  balsams.*  And  perhaps,  as  Sonnini  describes  the 
practice  among  the  Mussulman  women  at  present,  the 
whole  mass  thus  compounded  was  dried  and  again  re- 
duced to  an  impalpable  powder,  and  consistency  then 
given  to  it  by  the  vapors  of  some  odorous  and  unctuous 

*  Cheaper  materials  were  used  by  the  poorer  Hebrews,  es- 
Decially  of  the  Bedouin  tribes  —  burnt  almonds,  lamp-black, 
loot,  the  ashes  of  particular  woods,  the  gall-apple  boiled  and 
pulverized,  or  any  dark  powder  made  into  an  unguent  by  suit- 
nble  liquors.  The  modern  Grecian  women,  in  some  districts,  as 
Sonnini  tells  us,  use  the  spine  of  the  sea-polypus,  calcined  and 
finely  pulverized  for  this  purpose.  Boxes  of  horn  were  useii 
for  keeping  the  pigment  by  the  poorer  Hebrews  —  of  onyx  oi 
alabaster  by  the  richer. 


TOILETTE    OF    THE    HEBKEW    LADY.  533 

lubstance.  Thus  prepared,  the  pigment  was  applied 
to  the  tip  or  pointed  ferule  of  a  little  metallic  pencil, 
called  in  Hebrew  Makachol^  and  made  of  silver,  gold, 
or  ivory ;  the  eyelids  were  then  closed,  and  the  little 
pencil  or  probe,  held  horizontally,  was  inserted  between 
them,  a  process  which  is  briefly  and  picturesquely  de- 
bcribed  in  the  Bible.  The  effect  of  the  black  rim 
which  the  pigment  traced  about  the  eyelid,  was  to 
throw  a  dark  and  majestic  shadow  over  the  eye  ;  to 
give  it  a  languishing  and  yet  a  lustrous  expression  ; 
to  increase  its  apparent  size,  and  to  apply  the  force  of 
contrast  to  the  white  of  the  eye.  Together  with  the 
eyelids,  the  Hebrew  women  colored  the  eyebrows, 
the  point  aimed  at  being  twofold  —  to  curve  them 
into  a  beautiful  arch  of  brilliant  ebony,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  to  make  the  inner  ends  meet  or  flow  into 
ea'ch  other. 

in.  Ear-rings  of  gold,  silver,  inferior  metals,  or 
even  horn,  were  worn  by  the  Hebrew  women  in  all 
ages  ;  and  in  the  flourishing  period  of  the  Jewish  king- 
dom, probably  by  men  ;  and  so  essential  an  ornament 
were  they  deemed,  that  in  the  idolatrous  times  even 
the  images  of  their  false  gods  were  not  considered  be- 
comingly attired  without  them.  Their  ear-rings  were 
larger,  according  to  the  Asiatic  taste,  but  whether  quite 
large  enough  to  admit  the  hand  is  doubtful.  In  a  later 
Rge,  as  we  collect  from  the  Thalmud,  Part  vi.  43,  the 
Jewish  ladies  wore  gold  or  silver  pendants,  of  which 
the  upper  part  was  shaped  ''ke  a  lentil,  and  the  lower 
hollowed  like  a  little  cup  or  pipkin.  It  is  probable 
»lso  that,  even  in  the  oldest  ages,  it  was  a  practice 
amongst  them  to  suspend   gold  and   silver  rings,  no' 


534  TOILETTE    OF    THE    HEBREW    LADY. 

merely  from  the  lower  but  also  from  the  upper  end 
of  the  ear,  which  was  perforated  like  a  sieve.  The 
tinkling  sound  with  which,  upon  the  slightest  motion, 
two  or  three  tiers  of  rings  would  be  set  a-dancing 
about  the  cheeks,  was  very  agreeable  to  the  baby 
taste  of  the  Asiatics. 

From  a  very  early  age  the  ears  of  Hebrew  women 
■were  prepared  for  this  load  of  trinketry  ;  for,  according 
to  the  Thalmud  (ii.  23),  they  kept  open  the  little  holes 
after  they  were  pierced  by  threads  or  slips  of  wood,  a 
fact  which  may  show  the  importance  they  attached  to 
this  ornament. 

IV.  NosE-KiNGS  at  an  early  period  became  a  uni- 
versal ornament  in  Palestine.  We  learn,  from  Biblical 
and  from  Arabic  authority,  that  it  was  a  practice  of 
Patriarchal  descent  amongst  both  the  African  and 
Asiatic  Bedouins,  to  suspend  rings  of  iron,  wood,  or 
braided  hair,  from  the  nostrils  of  camels,  oxen,  &c.  — 
the  rope  by  which  the  animal  was  guided  being  at- 
tached to  these  rings.  It  is  probable,  therefore,  that 
the  early  Hebrews  who  dwelt  in  tents,  and  who  in  the 
barrenness  of  desert  scenery  drew  most  of  their  hints 
for  improving  their  personal  embellishment  from  the 
objects  immediately  about  them,  were  indebted  for 
their  nose-rings  to  this  precedent  of  their  camels. 
Sometimes  a  ring  depended  from  both  nostrils  ;  and 
the  size  of  it  was  equal  to  that  of  the  ear-ring  ;  so 
that,  at  times,  its  compass  included  both  upper  and 
under  lip,  as  in  the  frame  of  a  picture ;  and,  in  thg 
age  succeeding  to  Solomon's  reign,  we  hear  of  ring* 
which  were  not  less  than  three  inches  in  diameter 
Hebrew  ladies   of  distinction  had  sometimes  a  clustef 


TOI].£TTE    OF    THE    HEBREW    LADY.  535 

of  nose-rings,  as  well  for  the  tinkling  sound  which 
they  were  contrived  to  emit,  as  for  the  shining  light 
which  they  threw  oflf  upon  the  face. 

That  the  nose-ring  possessed  no  unimportant  place 
in  the  Jewish  toilette,  is  evident,  from  its  being  ranked, 
during  the  nomadic  state  of  the  Israelites,  as  one  of  the 
most  valuable  presents  that  a  young  Hebrew  woman 
could  receive  from  her  lover.  Amongst  the  Midianites, 
who  were  enriched  by  the  caravan  commerce,  even 
men  adopted  this  ornament :  and  this  appears  to  have 
been  the  case  in  the  family  to  which  Job  belonged 
[chap.  xli.  2].  Under  these  circumstances,  we  should 
naturally  presume  that  the  Jewish  courtezans,  in  the 
cities  of  Palestine,  would  not  omit  so  conspicuous  a 
trinket,  with  its  glancing  lights,  and  its  tinkling 
sound :  this  we  might  presume,  even  without  the 
authority  of  the  Bible ;  but,  in  fact,  both  Isaiah  and 
Ezekiel  expressly  mention  it  amongst  their  artifices  of 
attraction. 

Judith,  when  she  appeared  before  the  tent  of  Holo- 
fernes  in  the  whole  pomp  of  her  charms,  and  appar- 
elled with  the  most  elaborate  attention  to  splendor  of 
effect,  for  the  purpose  of  captivating  the  hostile  gen- 
eral, did  not  omit  its  ornament.  Even  the  Jewish 
Proverbs  show  how  highly  it  was  valued  ;  and  that  it 
continued  to  be  valued  in  latter  times,  appears  from 
the  ordinances  of  the  Thalmud  (ii.  21),  in  respect  to 
the  parts  of  the  female  wardrobe  which  were  allowed 
U)  be  worn  on  the  Sabbath. 

V.  The  Hebrew  women  of  high  rank,  in  the  flour- 
ishing period  of  their  state,  wore  xecklaces  composed 
•)f  multiple  rows  of  pearls.     The  thread  on  which  the 


536  TOILETTE    OF    THE    HEBREW    LADY. 

pearls  were  strung  was  of  flax  or  woollen,  —  and  some 
times  colored,  as  we  learn  from  the  Thalmud  (vi.  43)  ; 
and  the  different  rows  were  not  exactly  concentric  ; 
but  whilst  some  invested  the  throat,  others  descended 
to  the  bosom ;  and  in  many  cases,  even  to  the  zone, 
f)n  this  part  of  the  dress  was  lavished  the  greatest 
expense ;  and  the  Roman  reproach  was  sometimes 
true  of  a  Hebrew  family,  that  its  whole  estate  was 
locked  up  in  a  necklace.  Tertullian  complains  heavily 
of  a  particular  pearl-  necklace,  which  had  cost  about 
ten  thousand  pounds  of  English  money,  as  of  an 
enormity  of  extravagance.  But,  after  making  every 
allowance  for  greater  proximity  to  the  pearl  fisheries, 
and  for  other  advantages  enjoyed  by  the  people  ol 
of  Palestine,  there  is  reason  to  believe  that  some  He- 
brew ladies  possessed  pearls  which  had  cost  at  least 
five  times  that  sum.*  So  much  may  be  affirmed, 
without  meaning^  to  compare  the  most  lavish  of  the 
ladies  of  Jerusalem  with  those  of  Rome,  where  it  ia 
recorded  of  some  elegantes,  that  they  actually  slept 
with  little  bags  of  pearls  suspended  from  their  necks, 
that,  even  when  sleeping,  they  might  have  mementoes 
of  their  pomp. 

But  the  Hebrew  necklaces  were  not  always  com- 
•,"»osed  of  pearls,  or  of  pearls  only  —  sometimes  it  was 
he  custom  to  interchange  the  pearls  with  little  golden 
bulbs  or  berries  :   sometimes  they  were  blended  with 

*  Cleopatra  had  a  couple  at  that  value;  and  Julius  CaBsat 
tad  one,  which  he  gave  to  Servilia,  the  beautiful  mother  oi 
Brutus,  valued  by  knaves  who  wished  to  buy  (empturiebant)  at 
forty-eight  thousand  pounds  English,  but  by  the  envious  femaU 
-vorlJ  of  Rome,  at  sixty-three  thousand. 


TOILETTE    OF    THE    HEBKEW    LADY.  537 

the  precious  stones ;  and  at  other  times,  the  pearls 
were  strung  two  and  two,  and  their  beautiful  white- 
ness relieved  by  the  interposition  of  red  coral. 

VI.  Next  came  the  bracelets  of  gold  or  ivory, 
and  fitted  up  at  the  open  side  with  a  buckle  or  enam- 
elled clasp  of  elaborate  workmanship.  These  bracelets 
were  also  occasionally  composed  of  gold  or  silver 
thread :  and  it  was  not  unusual  for  a  series  of  them  to 
ascend  from  the  wrist  to  the  elbow.  From  the  clasp, 
or  other  fastening  of  the  bracelet,  depended  a  delicate 
chain  work  or  netting  of  gold  ;  and  in  some  instances, 
miniature  festoons  of  pearls.  Sometimes  the  gold 
chain- work  was  exchanged  for  little  silver  bells,  which 
could  be  used,  upon  occasion,  as  signals  of  warning  or 
'Qvitation  to  a  lover. 

VII.  This  bijouterie  for  the  arms  naturally  re- 
minded the  Hebrew  lady  of  the  axkle  bells,  and 
>ther  similar  ornaments  for  the  feet  and  legs.  These 
ornaments  consisted  partly  in  golden  belts,  or  rings, 
which,  descending  from  above  the  ankle,  compressed 
the  foot  in  various  parts ;  and  partly  in  shells  and 
little  jingling  chains,  which  depended  so  as  to  strike 
against  clappers  fixed  into  the  metallic  belts.  The 
pleasant  tinkle  of  the  golden  belts  in  collision,  the 
chains  rattling,  and  the  melodious  chime  of  little  silver 
ankle-bells,  keeping  time  with  the  motions  of  the  foot, 
.nade  an  accompaniment  so  agreeable  to  female  vanity, 
that  the  stately  daughters  of  Jerusalem,  with  their 
bweeping  trains  flowing  after  them,  appear  to  have 
iidopted  a  sort  of  measured  tread,  by  way  of  impress- 
ing a  regular  cadence  upon  the  music  of  their  feet. 
The   chains    of  gold  were  exchanged,   as   luxury  ad- 


538  TOIIiEXTE    OF    THE    HEBREW    LADY. 

vanced,  for  strings  of  pearls  and  jewels,  whicli  swept 
m  snaky  folds  about  the  feet  and  ankles. 

This,  like  many  other  peculiarities  in  the  Hebrew 
dress,  had  its  origin  in  a  circumstance  of  their  early 
nomadic  life.  It  is  usual  with  the  Bedouins  to  lead 
the  camel,  when  disposed  to  be  restive,  by  a  rope  or  a 
belt  fastened  to  one  of  the  fore-feet,  sometimes  to 
both ;  and  it  is  also  a  familiar  practice  to  soothe  and 
to  cheer  the  long-suffering  animal  with  the  sound  of 
little  bells,  attached  either  to  the  neck  or  to  one  of 
the  fore  legs.  Girls  are  commonly  employed  to  lead 
the  camels  to  water  ;  and  it  naturally  happened,  that, 
with  their  lively  fancies,  some  Hebrew  or  Arabian 
girl  should  be  prompted  to  repeat,  on  her  own  person, 
what  had  so  often  been  connected  with  an  agreeable 
impression  in  her  mute  companions  to  the  well. 

It  is  probable,  however,  that  afterwards,  having 
once  been  introduced,  this  fashion  was  supported  and 
extended  by  Oriental  jealousy.  For  it  rendered  all 
clandestine  movements  very  difficult  in  women  ;  and 
by  giving  notice  of  their  approach,  it  had  the  effect  of 
oreparing  men  for  their  presence,  and  keeping  the 
-tad  free  from  all  spectacles  that  could  be  offensive  to 
female  delicacy. 

From  the  Hebrew  Bedouins,  this  custom  passed  to 
all  the  nations  of  Asia — Medes,  Persians,  Lydians, 
Arabs,  &c. ;  and  is  dwelt  on  with  peculiar  delight  by 
the  elder  Arabic  poets.  That  it  had  spread  to  th^ 
westernmost  parts  of  Africa  early  in  the  Christian 
times,  we  learn  from  Tertullian,  who  [foolish  mat)  I 
cannot  suppress  his  astonishment,  that  the  foolish 
»romen  of  his  time  should  bear  to   inflict  such  com- 


TOILETTE    OF    THE    HEBREW    LADT.  0'3'J 

pression  upon  their  tender  feet.  Even  as  early  as  tho 
times  of  Herodotus,  we  find  from  his  account  of  a 
Libyan  nation,  that  the  women  and  girls  universally 
wore  copper  rings  about  their  ankles.  And  at  an 
after  period,  these  ornaments  were  so  much  cherished 
by  the  Egyptian  ladies,  that,  sooner  than  appear  in 
public  without  their  tinkling  ankle-chimes,  they  pre- 
ferred to  bury  themselves  in  the  loneliest  apartments 
of  the  harem. 

Finally,  the  fashion  spread  partially  into  Europe  ;  *o 
Greece  even,  and  to  polished  Rome,  in  so  far  ae  re- 
garded the  ankle-belts,  and  the  other  ornamental  ap- 
pendages, with  the  single  exception  of  the  silver  bells  ; 
these  were  too  entirely  in  the  barbaresque  taste,  to 
support  themselves  under  the  frown  of  European  cul- 
ture. 

VIII.  The  first  rude  sketch  of  the  Hebrew  sandal 
may  be  traced  in  that  little  tablet  of  undrest  hide 
which  the  Arabs  are  in  the  habit  of  tying  beneath  the 
feet  of  their  camels.  This  primitive  form,  after  all 
the  modifications  and  improvements  it  has  received, 
Btill  betrays  itself  to  an  attentive  observer,  in  the 
very  latest  fashions  of  the  sandal  which  Palestine  has 
adopted. 

To  raw  hides  succeeded  tanned  leather,  made  of 
goat-skin,  deer-skin,  dec. ;  this,  alter  being  accurately 
tut  out  to  the  shape  of  the  sole,  was  fastened  on  the 
bare  upper  surface  of  the  foot  by  two  thongs,  of 
which  one  was  usually  carried  within  the  great  toe, 
and  the  other  in  manj*  circumvolutions  round  about 
the  ankles,  so  that  both  finally  met  and  tied  just  abjve 
♦le  instep. 


TOILETTE    OF    THE    HEBKEW    LADY. 

The  laced  sole  or  sandal,  of  this  form,  continued  in 
Palestine  to  be  the  universal  out-of-doors  protection 
for  the  foot,  up  to  the  Christian  era ;  and  it  served  for 
both  sexes  alike.  It  was  not,  however,  worn  within 
doors.  At  the  threshold  of  the  inner  apartments  the 
eandals  were  laid  aside ;  and  visitors  from  a  distance 
were  presented  with  a  vessel  of  water  to  cleanse  the 
feet  from  the  soiling  of  dust  and  perspiration.* 

With  this  extreme  simplicity  in  the  form  of  the 
foot-apparel,  there  was  no  great  field  for  improvement. 
The  article  contained  two  parts  —  the  sole  and  the 
fastening.  The  first,  as  a  subject  for  decoration,  waa 
absolutely  desperate ;  coarse  leather  being  exchanged 
for  fine,  all  was  done  that  could  be  done  ;  and  the  wit 
of  man  was  able  to  devise  no  further  improvement. 
Hence  it  happened  that  the  whole  power  of  the  inven- 
tive faculty  was  accumulated  upon  the  fastenings,  as 
the  only  subject  that  remained.  These  were  infinitely 
varied.  Belts  of  bright  yellow,  of  purple,  and  of 
crimson,  were  adopted  by  ladies  of  distinction  — 
especially  those  of  Palestine,  and  it  was  a  trial  of  art 
to  throw  these  into  the  greatest  possible  varieties  of 
convolution,  and  to  carry  them  on  to  a  nexus  of  the 
lappiest  form,  by  which  means  a  reticulation,  or  trellis- 
Nfork,  was  accomplished,  of  the  most  brilliant  coloring, 
which  brought  into  powerful  relief  the  dazzling  color 
of  the  skin. 

*  Washing  the  feet  was  a  ceremony  of  ancient  times,  adopted 
not  merely  with  a  view,  1st,  to  personal  comfort,  in  hotter  cli- 
mates; or,  2d,  to  decorum  of  appearance  where  people  walked 
about  barefooted;  but  also,  Sd,  to  the  reclining  posture  in  use  at 
meals,  which  necessarily  brought  the  feet  into  immediate  contacJ 
with  the  snowy  swan-down  cushions,  squabs,  &c.  of  couches. 


TOILETTE    OF    THE    HEBREW    LADY  541 

It  IS  possible  that,  in  the  general  rage  for  ornamenta 
»f  gold  which  possessed  the  people  of  Palestine, 
during  the  ages  of  excessive  luxury,  the  beauties  of 
Jerusalem  may  have  adopted  gilt  sandals  with  gilt 
I'astenings,  as  the  ladies  of  Egypt  did.  It  is  possible 
also,  that  the  Hebrew  ladies  adopted  at  one  time,  in 
exchange  for  the  sandal,  slippers  that  covered  the  entire 
foot,  such  as  were  once  worn  at  Babylon,  and  are  still 
to  be  seen  on  many  of  the  principal  figures  on  the 
monuments  of  Persepolis ;  and,  if  this  were  really 
so,  ample  scope  would  in  that  case  have  been  obtained 
for  inventive  art :  variations  without  end  might  then 
have  been  devised  on  the  fashion  or  the  materials  of 
the  subject ;  and  by  means  of  color,  embroidery,  and 
infinite  combinations  of  jewellery  and  pearls,  an  un- 
ceasing stimulation  of  novelty  applied  to  the  caste 
of  the  gorgeous,  but  still  sensual  and  barbar^sque 
Asiatic. 

IX.  The  VEIL  of  various  texture  —  coarse  or  fine  — 
according  to  circumstances,  was  thrown  over  the  b^^ad 
by  the  Hebrew  lady,  when  she  was  unexpectedly  sur- 
prised, or  when  a  sudden  noise  gave  reason  to  expect 
the  approach  of  a  stranger.  This  beautiful  piece  of 
drapery,  which  flowed  back  in  massy  folds  over  the 
(Shoulders,  is  particularly  noticed  by  Isaiah,  as  hold- 
ing an  indispensable  place  in  the  wardrobe  of  his 
haughty  countrywomen  ;  and  m  this  it  was  tliat  the 
enamored  Hebrew  woraar  aougnt  the  beloved  of  he* 

[ifOXt. 


542  TOILETTE    OF    THE    HEBREW    LADY. 

ADDENDA    TO    SCENE    THE    FIRST. 

I.  Of  the  Hebrew  ornaments  for  the  throat,  some 
were  true  necklaces,  in  the  modern  sense,  of  severa 
rows,  the  outermost  of  which  descended  to  the  breast, 
and  had  little  pendulous  cylinders  of  gold  (in  the 
poorer  claoaes,  of  copper),  so  contrived  as  to  make  a 
jingling  sound  on  the  least  motion  of  the  person ; 
others  were  more  properly  golden  stocks,  or  throat- 
bands,  fitted  so  close  as  to  produce  in  the  spectator  an 
unpleasant  imagination,  and  in  the  wearer  as  wc  learn 
from  the  Thalmud  (vi.  43),  until  reconciled  by  use,  to 
produce  an  actual  feeling  of  constriction  approaching 
to  suffocation.  Necklaces  were,  from  the  earliest 
times,  a  favorite  ornament  of  the  male  sex  in  the 
East ;  and  expressed  the  dignity  of  the  wearer,  as  we 
see  in  the  instances  of  Joseph,  of  Daniel,  &c. ;  indeed 
the  gold  chain  of  ofiice,  still  the  badge  of  civic  (and, 
until  lately,  of  military)  dignities,  is  no  more  than  the 
outermost  row  of  the  Oriental  necklace.  Philo  of 
A.lexandria,  and  many  other  writers,  both  Persic  and 
Arabian,  give  us  some  idea  of  the  importance  attached 
by  the  women  of  Asia  to  this  beautiful  ornament,  and 
of  the  extraordinary  money  value  which  it  sometimes 
bore :  and  from  the  case  of  the  necklace  of  gold  and 
amber,  in  the  15th  Odyssey  (v.  458),  combined  with 
many  other  instances  of  the  same  kind,  there  can  be 
10  doubt  that  it  was  the  neighboring  land  of  Phoenicia 
from  which  the  Hebrew  women  obtained  their  neck 
laces,  and  the  practice  of  wearing  them. 

II.  The  fashion,  however,  of  adorning  the  necklace 
with  golden  Suns  and  Moons,  so  agreeable  to  the  He- 


TOILETTE    OF    THE    HEBREW    LADY.  543 

jrew  ladies  of  Isaiali's  time  (chap.  iii.  18),  was  not 
ierived  from  Phoenicia,  but  from  Arabia.  At  an  eaiiier 
period  (Judges  viii.  21),  the  camels  of  the  Midianites 
were  adorned  with  golden  moons,  which  also  decorated 
the  necks  of  the  emirs  of  that  nomadic  tribe.  These 
appendages  were  not  used  merely  by  way  of  ornament, 
but  originally  as  talismans,  or  amulets,  against  sickness, 
danger,  and  every  species  of  calamity  to  which  the 
desert  was  liable.  The  particular  form  of  the  amulet 
is  to  be  explained  out  of  the  primitive  religion,  which 
prevailed  in  Arabia  up  to  the  rise  of  Mohammedanism 
in  the  seventh  century  of  Christianity  —  viz.,  the  Sa- 
bean  religion,  or  worship  of  the  heavenly  host  —  sun, 
moon,  and  stars  —  the  most  natural  of  all  idolatries, 
and  especially  to  a  nomadic  people  in  flat  and  pathless 
deserts,  without  a  single  way-mark  or  guidance  for 
their  wanderings,  except  what  they  drew  from  the 
silent  heavens  above  them.  It  is  certain,  therefore, 
that  long  before  their  emigration  into  Palestine,  the 
Israelites  had  received  the  practice  of  wearing  suns 
and  moons  from  the  Midianites ;  even  after  their  set- 
tlement in  Palestine,  it  is  certain  that  the  worship  of 
the  starry  host  struck  root  pretty  deeply  at  different 
periods  ;  and  that,  to  the  sun  and  moon,  in  particular, 
were  offered  incense  and  libations. 

From  Arabia,  this  fashion  diffused  itself  over  many 
countries ;  *  and  it  was  not  without  great  displeasure 
that,  in  a  remote  age,  Jerome  and  Tertullian  discovered 

*  Chemistry  had  its  first  origin  in  Arabia:  and  it  is  not  impos- 
eible  that  the  chemical  nomenclatvi'*e  for  gold  and  silver,  viz., 
^1/  and  luna,  were  derived  from  this  early  superstition  of  the 
Viedouin  dreaa 


544  TOILETTE    OF    THE    HEBREW    LA.DT. 

this  idolatrous  ornament  upon  the  bosoms  of  their  coun- 
try-women. 

The  crescents,  or  half-raoouB  of  silver,  in  connection 
with  the  golden  suns,*  were  sometimes  set  in  a  brilliant 
I'rame  that  represented  a  halo  nnd  still  keep  their 
ground  on  the  Persian  and  T  ..rkish  toilette,  as  a  fa- 
vorite ornament. 

III.  The  GOLDEN  SNAKES,  wom  as  one  of  the  He- 
brew appendages  to  the  necklace,  had  the  same  idola- 
trous derivation,  and  originally  were  applied  to  the 
same  superstitious  use  —  as  an  amulet,  or  prophylactic 
ornament.  For  minds  predisposed  to  this  sort  of  su- 
perstition, the  serpent  had  a  special  attraction  under 
the  circumstances  of  the  Hebrews,  from  the  conspicuous 
part  which  this  reptile  sustains  in  the  mythologies  of 
the  East.  From  the  earliest  periods  to  which  tradition 
ascends,  serpents  of  various  species  were  consecrated 
to  the  religious  feelings  of  Egypt,  by  temples,  sacri- 
fices, and  formal  rites  of  worship.  This  mode  of 
idolatry  had  at  various  periods  infected  Palestine. 
According  to  2  Kings  xviii.  4,  at  the  accession  of  King 
Hezekiah,  the  Israelites  had  raised  peculiar  altars  to  a 
great  brazen  serpent,  and  burned  incense  upon  them. 
Even  at  this  day  the  Abyssinians  have  an  unlimited 
reverence  for  serpents;  and  the  blacks  in  general  re- 
gard them  as  fit  subjects  for  divine  honors.  Sonnini 
(ii.  388)  tells  us,  that  a  serpent's  skin  is  still  looked 
upon  in  Egypt  as  a  prophylactic  against  complaints   o 

*  Chemistry  had  its  first  origin  in  Arabia:  and  it  is  not  inv 
possible  that  the  chemical  nomenclature  for  gold  and  silver,  viz.. 
tol  and  luna,  were  derived  from  this  early  superstition  of  th« 
rfodouin  dress. 


TOIXBTXE    OF    THE    HEBREW    LADY.  5  i5 

the  head,  and  also  as  a  certain  cure  for  them.  And  of 
the  same  origin,  no  doubt,  was  the  general  belief  of 
untiquity  (according  to  Pliny,  30,  12),  that  the  ser- 
pent's skin  was  a  remedy  for  spasms.  That  the  golden 
serpent  kept  its  place  as  an  ornament  of  the  throat  and 
bosom  after  the  Christian  era,  we  learn  from  Clement 
of  Alexandria.  That  zealous  father,  so  intolerant  of 
superstitious  mummery  under  every  shape,  directs  his 
efforts  against  this  fashion  as  against  a  device  of  the 
devil. 

IV.  To  the  lowest  of  the  several  concentric  circles 
which  composed  the  necklace  was  attached  a  little  box, 
exquisitely  wrought  in  silver  or  gold,  sometimes  an 
onyx  phial  of  dazzling  whiteness,  depending  to  the 
bosom  or  even  to  the  cincture,  and  filled  with  the  rarest 
aromas  and  odorous  spices  of  the  East.  What  were 
the  favorite  essences  preserved  in  this  beautiful  append- 
age to  the  female  costume  of  Palestine  it  is  not  possi- 
ble at  this  distance  of  time  to  determine  with  certainty 
—  Issdah  having  altogether  neglected  the  case,  and 
Hosea,  who  appears  to  allude  to  it  (ii.  14),  having  only 
once  distinctly  mentioned  it  (ii.  20).  However,  the 
Thalmud  particularizes  musk,  and  the  delightful  oil 
distilled  from  the  leaf  of  the  aromatic  malabathrum  of 
Hindostan.  To  these  we  may  venture  to  add  oil  of 
spikenard,  myrrh,  balsams,  attar  of  roses,  and  rose- 
water,  as  the  perfumes  usually  contained  in  the  He- 
brew scent-pendants. 

Rose-water,  which  I  am  tne  first  to  mention  as  a 

Hebrew  perfume,  had,  as  I  presume,  a  foremost  place 

on  the  toilette  of  a  Hebrew  belle.     Express  Scriptural 

fcuttgrity  for  it  undoubtedly  there  is  none ;  but  it  is 

35 


54  6  TOILETTE    OF    THE    HEBREW    LADT. 

notorious  that  Palestine  availed  itself  of  all  the  ad- 
vantages of  Egypt,  amongst  which  the  rose  in  every 
variety  was  one.  Fium,  a  province  of  Central  Egypt, 
which  the  ancients  called  the  garden  of  Egypt,  was 
distinguished  for  innumerable  species  of  the  rose,  and 
especially  for  those  of  the  most  balsamic  order,  and  for 
the  most  costly  preparations  from  it.  The  Thalmud 
not  only  speaks  generally  of  the  mixtures  made  by 
tempering  it  with  oil  (i.  135).  but  expressly  citea 
(ii.  41)  a  peculiar  rose-water  aa  so  costly  an  essence, 
that  from  its  high  price  alone  it  became  impossible  to 
introduce  the  use  of  it  into  the  ordinary  medical  prac- 
tice. Indeed,  this  last  consideration,  and  the  fact  that 
the  highly-prized  quintessence  cannot  be  obtained  ex- 
cept from  an  extraordinary  multitude  of  the  larest 
roses,  forbid  us  to  suppose  that  even  women  of  the  first 
rank  in  Jerusalem  could  have  made  a  very  liberal  use 
of  rose-water.  In  our  times,  Savary  found  a  single 
phial  of  it  in  the  place  of  its  manufacture,  valued  at 
four  francs.  As  to  the  oil  of  roses,  properly  so  called, 
which  floats  in  a  very  inconsiderable  quantity  upon  the 
surface  of  distilled  rose-water,  it  is  certain  that  tho 
Hebrew  ladies  were  not  acquainted  with  it.  This  pre- 
paration can  be  obtained  only  from  the  balsamic  rosea 
of  Fium,  of  Shiras,  of  Kerman,  and  of  Kashmire,  which 
surpass  all  the  roses  of  the  earth  in  power  and  delicacy 
of  odor ;  and  it  Is  matter  of  absolute  certainty,  and 
incontrovertibly  established  by  the  celebrated  Langles, 
that  this  oil,  which  even  in  the  four  Asiatic  countries 
just  mentioned,  ranks  with  the  greatest  rarities,  and 
in  Shiras  itself  is  valued  at  its  weight  in  gold,  was  dis- 
covered by  mere  accident,  on  occasion  of  some  festiva 
lolemn.ity  in  the  year  1612. 


TOILETTE    OF    THE    HEBREW    LADY.  5i7 

V.  To  what  I  said  in  the  first  scene  of  my  exhibition 
gibout  the  Hebrew  ear-ornaments.  I  may  add, 

1.  That  sometimes,  as  Best  remarked  of  the  Hindoo 
dancing  girls,  their  ears  were  swollen  from  the  innu- 
merable perforations  drilled  into  them  to  support  their 
loads  of  trinketry. 

2.  That  in  the  large  pendants  of  coral  which  the 
Hebrew  ladies  were  accustomed  to  attach  to  their  ears, 
either  in  preference  to  jewels,  or  in  alternation  with 
je^yels,  they  particularly  delighted  in  that  configuration 
which  imitated  a  cluster  of  grapes. 

3.  That  in  ear-rings  made  of  gold,  they  preferred  the 
form  of  drops,  or  of  globes  and  bulbs. 

4.  That  of  all  varieties,  however,  of  this  appendage, 
pearls  maintained  the  preference  amongst  the  ladies  of 
Palestine,  and  were  either  strung  upon  a  thread,  or 
attached  by  little  hooks  —  singly  or  in  groups,  accord- 
ing to  their  size.  This  taste  was  very  early  established 
amongst  the  Jews,  and  chiefly,  perhaps,  through  their 
intercourse  with  the  Midianites,  amongst  whom  we 
find  the  great  emirs  wearing  pearl  ornaments  of  this 
class. 

Mutatis  mutandis,  these  four  remarks  apply  also  and 
equally  to  the  case  of  the  nose  ornaments. 

SCENE    THE    SECOND. 

I.  The  Haie.  —  This  section  I  omit  altogether, 
though  with  more  room  at  my  disposal  it  would  be 
well  worth  translating  as  a  curiosity.  It  is  the  essay 
of  a  finished  and  perfect  knave,  who,  not  merely  being 
rather  bare  of  facts,  but  having  literally  not  one  solitary 
fact  of  any  kind  or  degree,  small  or  great,  sits  down  'a 


548  TOILETTE    OF    THE    HEBKETV    LADTf. 

imte  a  treatise  on  the  mode  of  dressing  hair  amongst 
Hebrew  ladies.  Samson's  hair,  and  the  dressing  it  got 
from  the  Philistines,  is  the  nearest  approach  that  he 
ever  makes  to  his  subject ;  and  being  conscious  that 
this  case  of  Samson  and  the  Philistines  is  the  one  sole 
allusion  to  the  subject  of  Hebrew  hair  that  he  is  pos- 
sessed of — for  he  altogether  overlooks  (which  surely 
m  him  is  criminal  and  indictable  inadvertence)  the  hair 
of  Absalom  —  he  brings  it  round  upon  the  reader  as 
often  perhaps  as  it  will  bear  —  viz.,  not  oftener  than  ooce 
every  sixth  page.  The  rest  is  one  continued  shuffle 
to  avoid  coming  upon  the  ground ;  and  upon  the 
whole,  though  too  barefaced,  yet  really  not  without 
ingenuity.  Take,  by  way  of  specimen,  his  very  satis- 
factory dissertation  on  the  particular  sort  of  combs 
which  the  Hebrew  ladies  ^ere  pleased  to  patronize  :  — 
"  Combs.  —  Whether  the  ladies  of  Palestine  had 
upon  their  toilette  a  peculiar  comb  for  parting  the  hair, 
another  for  turning  it  up,  &c.  ;  as  likewise  whether 
these  combs  were,  as  in  ancient  Rome,  made  of  box- 
wood or  of  ivory,  or  other  costly  and  appropriate  ma- 
terial, all  these  are   questions   upon  which  I am 

not  able,  upon  my  honor,  to  communicate  the  least  in- 
formation. But  from  the  general  silence  of  antiquity, 
prophets  and  all,*  upon  the  subject  of  Hebrew  combs, 

*  The  Thalmud  is  the  only  Jewish  authority  which  mentions 
Buch  a  utensil  of  the  toilette  as  a  comb  (vi.  39),  but  without  any 
particular  description.  Hartmann  adds  two  remarks  worth 
quoting.  1.  That  the  Hebrew  style  of  the  coiffure  may  probably 
be  collected  from  the  Syrian  coins;  and  2.  That  black  hair  being 
ail  mired  in  Palestine,  and  the  Jewish  hair  being  naturally  black 
t  is  probable  that  the  Jewish  ladies  did  not  color  their  hair,  aa 
:hc  Paomans  did. 


TOIX.ETTE    OF    THE    HEBREA\     LADT.  ")49 

my  own  private  opinion  is,  that  the  ladies  used  their 
fingers  for  this  purpose,  in  which  case  there  needs  no 
more  to  be  said  on  the  subject  of  Hebrew  combs.'" 
Certainly  not.  All  questions  are  translated  from  the 
visionary  combs  to  the  palpable  and  fleshly  fingers  ; 
but  the  combs  being  usually  of  ivory  in  the  Roman 
establishments,  were  costly,  and  might  breed  disputes  ; 
but  the  fingers  were  a  dowry  of  nature,  and  cost 
nothing. 

II.  Perfumes.  —  Before,  however,  the  hair  received 
its  final  arrangement  from  the  hands  of  the  waiting- 
maid,  it  was  held  open  and  dishevelled  to  receive  the 
fumes  of  frankincense,  aloeswood,  cassia,  costmary,  and 
other  odorous  woods,  gums,  balsams,  and  spices  of 
India,  Arabia,  or  Palestine  —  placed  upon  glowing 
embers,  in  vessels  of  golden  fretwork.  It  is  probable 
also  that  the  Hebrew  ladies  used  amber,  bisam,  and 
the  musk  of  Thibet ;  and,  when  fully  arranged,  the 
hair  was  sprinkled  with  oil  of  nard,  myrrh,  oil  of  cin- 
namon, &c.  The  importance  attached  to  this  part  of 
the  Hebrew  toilette  may  be  collected  indeed  from  an 
ordinance  of  the  Thalmud  (iii.  80),  which  directs  that 
the  bridegroom  shall  set  apart  one-tenth  of  the  income 
which  the  bride  brings  him,  for  the  purchase  of  per- 
"umes,  essences,  precious  ointments,  &c.  All  these 
articles  were  preserved  either  in  golden  boxes  or  in 
little  oval  narrow-necked  phials  of  dazzling  white  ala- 
baster, which  bore  the  name  of  onyx,  from  its  resem- 
blance to  the  precious  stone  of  that  name,  but  was  in 
fact  a  very  costly  sort  of  marKe,  obtained  in  the  quar- 
ries of  Upper  Kgypt  or  those  of  the  Libanus  in  Syria. 
Indeed,  long  before  the  birth  of  Christ,  alabaster  was 


550  TOILETTE    OF    THE    HKRREW    LADT. 

in  such  general  use  for  purposes  of  this  kind  in  Pales- 
tine, that  it  became  the  generic  name  for  valuable 
boxes,  no  matter  of  what  material.  To  prevent  the 
evaporation  of  the  contents,  the  narrow  neck  of  the 
phial  was  re-sealed  every  time  it  was  opened.  It  is 
probable  also  that  the  myrrhine  cups,  about  which 
there  has  been  so  much  disputing,  were  no  strangers 
to  the  Jewish  toilette. 

III.  The  Mirror  was  not  made  of  glass  (for  glass 
mirrors  cannot  be  shown  to  have  existed  before  the 
thirteenth  century),  but  of  polished  metals  ;  and 
amongst  these  silver  was  in  the  greatest  esteem,  as 
being  capable  of  a  higher  burnish  than  other  metals, 
and  less  liable  to  tarnish.  Metallic  mirrors  are  alluded 
to  by  Job  (xxxvii,  18).  But  it  appears  from  the  Sec- 
ond Book  of  Moses  (xxxviii.  8),  that  in  that  age  cop- 
per must  have  been  the  metal  employed  throughout 
the  harems  of  Palestine.  For  a  general  contribution 
of  mirrors  being  made  upon  one  occasion  by  the  Israel- 
itish  women,  they  were  melted  down  and  recast  into 
washing  vessels  for  the  priestly  service.  N~w  the 
sacred  utensils,  as  we  know  from  other  sources,  were 
undeniably  of  copper.  There  is  reason  to  think,  how- 
ever, that  the  copper  was  alloyed,  according  to  the 
prevailing  practice  in  that  age,  with  some  proportions 
of  lead  or  tin.  In  after  ages,  when  silver  was  chiefly 
employed,  it  gave  place  occasionally  to  gold.  Mines 
of  this  metal  were  well  known  in  Palestine  ;  but  there 
IS  no  evidence  that  precious  stones,  which  were  used 
for  this  purpose  in  the  ages  of  European  luxury,  wer 
ever  so  used  in  Palestine,  or  in  any  part  of  Asia. 

As    to    shape,    the    Hebrew    mirrora    were    alway* 


TOILETTE    OF    THE    HEBREW    I.AJ)Y.  551 

either  circular  or  oval,  and  cast  indifferently  flat  oi 
concave.  They  were  framed  in  superb  settings,  often 
of  pearls  and  jewels;  and,  when  tarnished,  were 
cleaned  with  a  sponge  full  of  hyssop,  the  universal 
cleansing  material  in  Palestine. 

SCENE    THE  THIBD. 

Head- Dresses. 

The  head-dresses  of  the  Hebrew  ladies  may  be 
brought  under  three  principal  classes  :  — 

The  first  was  a  network  cap,  made  of  fine  wool 
or  cotton,  and  worked  with  purple  or  crimson  flowers. 
Sometimes  the  meshes  of  the  net  were  of  gold  thread. 
The  rim  or  border  of  the  cap,  generally  of  variegated 
coloring,  was  often  studded  with  jewellery  or  pearls  ; 
and  at  the  back  was  ornamented  with  a  bow,  having  a 
few  ends  or  tassels  flying  loose. 

Secondly,  a  turban,  managed  in  the  following 
way ;  — First  of  all,  one  or  more  caps  in  the  form  of 
a  half-oval,  such  as  are  still  to  be  seen  upon  the  monu- 
ments of  Egyptian  and  Persepolitan  art,  was  fastened 
<ound  the  head  by  a  ribbon  or  fillet  tied  behind.  This 
cap  was  of  linen,  sometimes  perhaps  of  cotton,  and  in 
the  inferior  ranks  oftentimes  of  leather,  or,  according  to 
the  prevailing  fashion,  of  some  kind  of  metal ;  an  1,  in 
liny  case,  it  had  ornaments  worked  into  its  substance. 
Round  this  white  or  glittering  ground  were  carried,  in 
snaky  windings,  ribbons  of  the  finest  tiffany,  or  of 
awn  resembling  rur  cambric ;  and  to  conceal  the 
joinings,  a  silky  substance  wab  carried  in  folds,  which 
pursued  the  opposite  direction,  and  crossed  the  tiffany 


652  TOILETTE    OF    THE    HEBEEW    LADY. 

ftt  riglit  angles.  For  tlie  purpose  of  calling  out  and 
relieving  the  dazzling  whiteness  of  the  ground,  colors 
of  the  most  brilliant  class  were  chosen  for  the  ribbons  : 
and  these  ribbons  were  either  embroidered  with  flowers 
in  gold  thread,  or  had  ornaments  of  that  description 
j...jrwoven  with  their  texture. 

Thirdly,  the  helmet,  adorned  pretty  nearly  as  the 
turban  ;  and,  in  imitation  of  the  helmets  worn  by  the 
Chaldean  generals,  having  long  tails  or  tassels  depend- 
ing from  the  hinder  part,  and  flowing  loosely  between 
the  shoulders.  According  to  the  Oriental  taste  for 
perfumes,  all  the  ribbons  or  fillets  used  in  these  hel- 
mets and  turbans  were  previously  steeped  in  perfumes. 

Finally,  in  connection  with  the  turban,  and  often 
with  the  veil,  was  a  beautiful  ornament  for  the  fore- 
head and  the  face,  which  the  ladies  of  this  day  would 
do  well  to  recall.  Round  the  brow  ran  a  bandeau  or 
tiara  of  gold  or  silver,  three  fingers'-breadth,  and 
usually  set  with  jewels  or  pearls :  from  this,  at  each 
of  the  temples,  depended  a  chain  of  pearls  or  of  coral, 
which,  following  the  margin  of  the  cheeks,  either  hung 
loose  or  united  below  the  chin. 

SCENE    THE    FOXJKTH. 

I.  The  reader  has  been  already  niade  acquainted 
vith  the  chemise,  or  innermost  under-dress.  The 
Hebrew  ladies,  however,  usually  wore  two  under- 
dresses,  the  upper  of  which  it  now  remains  to  describe 
In  substance  it  was  generally  of  a  fine  transparent 
texture,  like  the  muslins  (if  we  may  so  call  them)  o 
Cos  ;  in  t>  8  later  ages  it  was  no  doubt  of  silk. 

The  chemise  sate  close  up  to  the    throat ;  and   w 


TOILETTE    OF    THE    HEBREW    LADY.  553 

bave  already  mentioned  the  elaborate  work  which 
adorned  it  about  the  opening.  But  the  opening  of 
the  robe  which  we  are  now  describing  was  of  much 
larger  compass,  being  cut  down  to  the  bosom ;  and 
the  embroidery,  &c.,  which  enriched  it  was  still  more 
magnificent.  The  chemise  reached  down  only  to  the 
calf  of  the  leg,  and  the  sleeve  of  it  to  the  elbow  :  but 
the  upper  chemise  or  tunic,  if  we  may  so  call  it,  de- 
scended in  ample  draperies  to  the  feet,  scarcely  allow- 
ing the  point  of  the  foot  to  discover  itself;  and  the 
sleeves  enveloped  the  hands  to  their  middle.  Great 
pomp  was  lavished  on  the  folds  of  the  sleeves ;  but 
still  greater  on  the  hem  of  the  robe  and  the  fringe  at- 
tached to  it.  The  hem  was  formed  by  a  broad  border 
of  purple,  shaded  and  relieved  according  to  patterns  ; 
and  sometimes  embroidered  in  gold  thread  with  the 
most  elegant  objects  from  the  animal  or  vegetable 
kingdoms.  To  that  part  which  fell  immediately  be- 
hind the  heels,  there  were  attached  thin  plates  of 
gold  ;  or,  by  way  of  variety,  it  was  studded  with 
golden  stars  and  filigree-work,  sometimes  with  jewels 
and  pearls  interchangeably. 

II.  On  this  upper  tunic,  to  confine  the  exorbitance 
f  its  draperies,  and  to  prevent  their  interfering  with 
the  free  motions  of  the  limbs,  a  superb  girdle  was 
bound  about  the  hips.  Here,  if  anywhere,  the  Hebrew 
ladies  endeavored  to  pour  out  the  whole  pomp  of 
their  splendor,  both  as  to  materials  and  workmanship. 
Belts  from  three  to  four  inches  broad,  of  the  most 
delicate  cottony  substance,  were  chosen  as  the  ground 
of  this  important  part  of  female  attire.  The  finest 
flowers  of  Palestine  were  here  exhibited  in  rich  relief 


554  TOILETTE    OF    THE    HEBREW    LADY. 

und  in  their  native  colors,  either  woven  in  the  loom, 
or  by  the  needle  of  the  embroiderer.  The  be^'a  being 
thirty  or  forty  feet  long,  and  carried  round  and  round 
the  person,  it  was  in  the  power  of  the  wearer  to  exhibit 
an  infinite  variety  of  forms,  by  allowing  any  fold  03 
number  of  folds  at  pleasure  to  rise  up  more  or  less  to 
view,  just  as  fans  or  the  colored  edges  of  books  with 
us  are  made  to  exhibit  landscapes,  &c.,  capable  of 
great  varieties  of  expansion  as  they  are  more  or  less 
unfolded.  The  fastening  was  by  a  knot  below  the 
bosom,  and  the  two  ends  descended  below  the  fringe  ; 
which,  if  not  the  only  fashion  in  use,  was,  however, 
the  prevailing  one,  as  we  learn  both  from  the  sculp- 
tures at  Persepolis,  and  from  the  costume  of  the  high 
priest. 

Great  as  the  cost  was  of  these  girdles,  it  would 
have  been  far  greater  had  the  knot  been  exchanged 
for  a  clasp  ;  and  in  fact  at  a  later  period,  when  this 
fashion  did  really  take  place,  there  was  no  limit  to  the 
profusion  with  which  pearls  of  the  largest  size  and  jew- 
ellery were  accumulated  upon  this  conspicuous  centre 
of  the  dress.  Latterly  the  girdles  were  fitted  up  with 
beautiful  chains,  by  means  of  which  they  could  be 
contracted  or  enlarged,  and  with  gold  buckles,  and 
large  bosses  and  clasps,  that  gradually  became  the 
basis  for  a  ruinous  display  of  expenditure. 

In  conclusion,  I  must  remark,  that  in  Palestine,  as 
tlsewhere,  the  girdle  was  sometimes  used  as  a  purse ; 
whether  it  were  that  the  girdle  itself  was  madr  uollow 
(as  is  expressly  affirmed  of  the  high  priest's  girdle) 
or  that,  without  being  hollow,  its  numerous  foldingi 
afforded  a  secure  depository  for  articles  of  small  size 


TOILETTE    OF    THE    HEBREW    LADY.  555 

Even  in  our  days,  it  is  the  custom  to  conceal  the 
dagger,  the  handkerchief  for  wiping  the  face,  and  other 
bagatelles  of  personal  convenience,  in  the  folds  of  the 
girdle.  However,  the  richer  and  more  distinguished 
classes  in  Palestine  appear  to  have  had  a  peculiar  and 
separate  article  of  that  kind.     And  this  was  — 

III.  A  PUKSE  made  either  of  metal  (usually  goxa 
or  silver),  or  of  the  softest  leather,  &c.,  which  was  at- 
tached by  a  lace  to  the  girdle,  or  kept  amongst  its 
folds,  and  which,  even  in  the  eyes  of  Isaiah,  was  im- 
portant enough  to  merit  a  distinct  mention.  It  was 
of  a  conical  shape  ;  and  at  the  broader  end  was  usually 
enriched  with  ornaments  of  the  most  elaborate  and 
exquisite  workmanship.  No  long  time  after  the  Chris- 
tian era,  the  cost  of  these  purses  had  risen  to  sucb  a 
height,  that  Tertullian  complains,  with  great  dis- 
pleasure, of  the  ladies  of  his  time,  that  in  the  mere 
purse,  apart  from  its  contents,  they  carried  about  with 
them  the  price  of  a  considerable  estate. 

The  girdle,  however,  still  continued  to  be  the  ap- 
propriate depository  for  the  napkin  (to  use  the  old 
English  word)  or  sudatory  —  i.  e.,  handkerchief  for 
clearing  the  forehead  of  perspiration.  As  to  pocket- 
handkerchiefs,  in  our  northern  use  of  them,  it  has 
oeen  satisfactorily  shown  by  Bottiger,  in  a  German 
Journal,  that  the  Greek  and  Roman  ladies  knew  noth- 
ing of  that  modern  appendage   to   the  pocket,*   how- 

*  Or  rather  it  was  required  only  in  a  catarrh,  or  other  case  of 
cnecked  perBpiration,  which  in  those  climates  was  a  case  of  very 
rare  occurrence.  It  has  often  struck  me  —  that  without  needing 
the  elaborate  aid  .f  Bcittiger's  researches,  simply  from  one  clause 
ill  Javenal's  picture  of  old  age  and  its  infirmities  we  might  de- 


556  TOILETTE    OF    THE    HEBREW    LADf. 

ever  indispensable  it  may  appear  to  us  ;  and  the  samt 
arguments  apply  with  equal  foice  to  the  climate  of 
Palestine. 

IV.  The  glittering  rikgs,  with  which  (according  to 
Isaiah  iii.  21)  the  Hebrew  ladies  adorned  their  hands, 
seem  to  me  originally  to  have  been  derived  from  the 
seal-rings,  which,  whether  suspended  from  the  neck, 
or  worn  upon  the  finger,  have  in  all  ages  been  the 
most  favorite  ornament  of  Asiatics.  These  splendid 
baubles  were  naturally  in  the  highest  degree  attractive 
to  women,  both  from  the  beauty  of  the  stones  which 
were  usually  selected  for  this  purpose,  and  from  the 
richness  of  the  setting  —  to  say  nothing  of  the  ex- 
quisite art  which  the  ancient  lapidaries  displayed  in 
cutting  them.  The  stones  chiefly  valued  by  the  ladies 
of  Palestine  were  rubies,  emeralds,  and  chrysolites  ; 
and  these,  set  in  gold,  sparkled  on  the  middle  or 
little  finger  of  the  right  hand  ;  and  in  luxurious  timea 
upon  all  the  fingers,  even  the  thumb ;  nay,  in  some 
cases,  upon  the  great  toe. 

SCENE     THE     FIFTH. 

Upper  Garment. 

The  upper  or  outer  garments,  which,  for  both  sexes, 
unier  all  varieties  and  modifications,  the  Hebrews  ex- 
pressed by  the  comprehensive  denomination  of  simlah, 

iuce  the  Roman  habit  of  dispensing  with  a  pocket-handkerch'ef. 
Amongst  these  infirmities  he  notices  the  madidi  infantia  nasi—- 
the  second  childhood  of  a  nose  that  needs  wiping.  But,  if  thia 
kind  of  defluxion  was  peculiar  to  infancy  and  extreme  old  agf,  i 
was  obviously  no  affection  of  middle  age. 


TOILETTE    OF    THE    HEBREW    LADY  DO  < 

Jiare  in  every  age,  and  througli  all  parts  of  the  hoi 
climates,  in  Asia  and  Africa  alike,  been  of  such  volu- 
minous compass  as  not  only  to  envelope  the  whole  per- 
son, but  to  be  fitted  for  a  wide  range  of  miscellaneous 
purposes.  Sometimes  (as  in  the  triumphal  entry  of 
Christ  into  Jerusalem)  they  were  used  as  carpets ; 
sometimes  as  coverings  for  the  backs  of  camels,  horses, 
or  asses,  to  render  the  rider's  seat  less  incommodious ; 
sometimes  as  a  bed  coverlid  or  counterpane  ;  at  other 
times  as  sacks  for  carrying  articles  of  value ;  or  finally, 
as  curtains,  hangings  of  parlors,  occasional  tapestry,  or 
even  as  sails  for  boats. 

From  these  illustrations  of  the  uses  to  which  it  was 
applicable,  we  may  collect  the  form  of  this  robe  ;  that 
it  was  nothing  more  than  a  shawl  of  large  dimen- 
sions, or  long  square  of  cloth,  just  as  it  came  from  the 
veaver's  loom,  which  was  immediately  thrown  round 
the  person,  without  receiving  any  artificial  adjustment 
to  the  human  shape. 

So  much  for  the  form :  with  regard  to  the  material, 
there  was  less  uniformity  ;  originally  it  was  of  goats' 
or  camels'  hair  ;  but  as  civilization  and  the  luxury  of 
cities  increased,  these  coarse  substances  were  rejected 
for  the  finest  wool  and  Indian  cotton.  Indeed,  through 
all  antiquity,  we  find  that  pure  unsullied  white  was  the 
festal  color,  and  more  especially  in  Palestine,  where  the 
'indigenous  soaps,  and  other  cleaning  materials,  gave 
them  peculiar  advantages  for  adopting  a  dress  of  that 
delicate  and  perishable  lustre. 

With  the  advance  of  luxury,  howe"er,  came  a  love 
•f  variety ;  and  this,  added  to  th?  desire  for  more 
stimulating  impressions   than  could  be   derived  from 


ib^  TOILETTE    OF    THE    HEBREW    LADT. 

blank  unadorned  white,  gradually  introduced  all  sorts 
of  innovations  both  in  form  and  color ;  though,  with 
respect  to  the  first,  amidst  all  the  changes  through 
which  it  travelled,  the  old  original  outline  still  mani- 
festly predominated.  An  account  of  the  leading 
varieties  we  find  in  the  celebrated  third  chapter  o/ 
Isaiah. 

The  most  opulent  women  of  Palestine,  beyond  all 
other  colors  for  the  upper  robe,  preferred  purple ;  or, 
if  not  purple  throughout  the  entire  robe,  at  any  rate 
purple  flowers  upon  a  white  ground.  The  wint'^r 
clothing  of  the  very  richest  families  in  Palestine  was 
manufactured  in  their  own  houses  ;  and  for  winter 
clothing,  more  especially  the  Hebrew  <^aste,  no  less 
than  the  Grecian  and  the  Roman,  pref«irred  the  warm 
and  sunny  scarlet,  the  puce  color,  the  violet,  and  the 
regal  purple.* 

Very  probable  it  is  that  the  Hebrew  ladies,  like  those 
of  Greece,  were  no  strangers  to  the  half-mantle  — 
fastened  by  a  clasp  in  front  of  each  shoulder,  and  suf- 
fered to  flow  in  free  draperies  down  the  back  ;  this 
was  an  occasional  and  supernumerary  garment  flung 
over  the  regular  upper  robe  —  properly  so  called. 

There  was  also  a  longer  mantle,  reaching  to  the 
ankles,  usually  of  a  violet  color,  which,  having  r.o 
sleeves,  was  meant  to  expose  to  view  the  beauty, 
not  only  of  the  upper  robe,  but  even  of  the  outer  tunic 
formerly  described. 

Py  the  way,  it  should  be  mentioned  that,  in  order  to 

^  By  which  was  probably  meant  a  color  nearer  to  crimsoi 
than  to  the  blue  or  violet  class  of  purples. 


rOILETTK    OF    THE    HEBREW    LADY.  559 

iteep  them  in  fine  odor,  all  parts  of  the  wardrobe  were 
stretched  on  a  reticulated  or  grated  vessel  —  called  by 
the  Thalmud  (vi.  77)  Kanklin  —  from  which  the  steams 
of  rich  perfumes  were  made  to  ascend. 

In  what  way  the  upper  robe  was  worn  and  fastenfid 
may  be  collected  perhaps  with  sufficient  probability 
from  the  modern  Oriental  practice,  as  described  b/ 
travellers  ;  but  as  we  have  no  direct  authority  on  the 
subject,  I  shall  not  detain  the  reader  with  any  conjec- 
tural speculations. 

SCENE     THE     SIXTH. 

Dress  of  Ceremony. 

One  magr.ificent  dress  remains  yet  to  be  .mentioned 
—  viz.,  the  dress  of  honor  or  festival  dress,  which  an- 
swers in  every  respect  to  the  modern  caftan.  This 
was  used  on  all  occasions  of  ceremony,  as  splendid 
weddings,  presentations  at  the  courts  of  kings,  sump- 
tuous entertainments,  &c. ;  and  all  persons  who  stood 
in  close  connection  with  the  throne,  as  favorites,  crown- 
officers,  distinguished  military  commanders,  &c.,  re- 
ceived such  a  dress  as  a  gift  from  the  royal  treasury, 
in  order  to  prepare  them  at  all  times  for  the  royal 
presence.  According  to  the  universal  custom  of  Asia, 
the  trains  were  proportioned  in  length  to  the  rai\  of 
the  wearer  ;  whence  it  is  that  the  robes  of  the  high- 
priest  were  adorned  with  a  train  of  superb  dimensions  ; 
►nd  even  Jehovah  is  represented  (Isaiah  vi.  1)  as  filling 
the   heavenly   palace    with   the    length    of   his  train.* 

•  It  has  b«en  doubted  whether  these  trains  were  supp->rted 
7  train-bear«T8;  but  one  argument  makes  it  probaole  that  tfae^ 


5()0  TOILETXB    OF    THE    HEBEEW    lADT. 

Another  distinction  of  this  festival  robe  was  the 
extraordinary  fulness  and  length  of  t^ie  sleeves ;  those 
descended  to  the  knee,  and  often  ran  to  the  ankle  oi 
to  the  ground.  In  the  sleeves  and  in  the  trains, 
but  especially  in  the  latter,  lay  the  chief  pride  of  a 
Hebrew  belle,  when  dressed  for  any  great  solemnity  or 
occasion  of  public  display. 

Final  Notes. 

I.  The  Syndon,  mentioned  by  Isaiah,  &c.,  was  a  delicate  and 
transparent  substance,  like  our  tiffany,  and  in  point  of  money 
value  was  fully  on  a  level  with  the  caftan ;  but  whether  imported 
from  Egypt  or  imitated  in  the  looms  of  the  Hebrews  and  Phoeni- 
Dians,  is  doubtful.  It  was  T*orn  next  to  the  skin,  and  conse- 
quently, in  the  harems  of  the  great,  occupied  the  place  of  the 
under  tunic  (or  chemise)  previously  described ;  and  as  luxury 
advanced,  there  is  reason  to  think  that  it  was  used  as  a  night 
chemise. 

n.  The  Caftan  is  the  Kalaat  of  the  East,  or  Kelaat  so  often 
mentioned  by  modern  travellers;  thus,  for  example,  Thevenot 
(tom.  iii.  p.  852)  says  —  '*  Le  Roi  fait  assez  souvent  des  pr  sens 
{i  ses  Khans,  &c.,  L'on  appelle  ces  pr.'sens  JTaZaai."  Chardin. 
(iii.  101),  "  On  appelle  Calaat  les  habits  que  le  Roi  donne  par 
bonneur."  And  lately,  in  Lord  Amherst's  progress  through  the 
uorthem  provinces  of  our  Indian  empire,  &c.,  we  read  continu-" 
illy  of  the  Khelawt,  or  robe  of  state,  as  a  present  made  by  the 
native  princes  to  distinguished  ofi&cers. 

The  Caftan,  or  festival  robe  of  the  Hebrews,  was,  in  my  opin- 
ion, the  UinXoQ  of  the  Greeks,  or  palla  of  the  Romans.  Among 
the  points  of  resemblance  are  these  :  — 

1.  The  palla  was  flung  like  a  cloak  or  mantle  over  the  stola  or 

were  not  —  viz.,  that  they  were  particularly  favorable  to  the 
peacock  walk  or  strut,  which  was  an  express  object  of  imitatios 
bi  the  gait  of  the  Hebrew  women. 


TOILETTE    OF    THE    HEBREW    EADY.  561 

uppermost  robe.      "  Ad    talos    stola    deniissa    et    circundata 
palla." 

2.  The  palla  not  only  descended  in  flowing  draperies  to  the 
feet  (thus  Tibullus,  i.  vii.  C,  "  Fusa  sed  ad  teneros  lutea  palla 
pedes  "),  but  absolutely  swept  the  ground.  "  Verrit  humum 
Tyrio  saturata  murice  palla." 

3.  The  palla  was  one  of  the  same  wide  compass,  and  equalljr 
distinguished  for  its  splendor. 

4.  Like  the  Hebrew  festival  garment,  the  palla  was  a  vestit 
seposita,  and  reserved  for  rare  solemnities. 

With  respect  to  the  Tleir\os,  Eustathius  describes  it  as  ixeyav 
Kol  irfpiKaWta  Kal  TTotKtKhv  inpi^oKaiov,  a  large  and  very  beau- 
tiful and  variegated  envelo])ing  mantle  ;  and  it  would  be  easy  in 
other  respects  to  prove  its  identity  with  the  Palla. 

Salmasius,  by  the  way,  in  commenting  upon  Tertullian  de 
Pallio,  is  quite  wrong  where  he  says  —  "Palla  nunquam  de  virili 
palliodicitur."  Tibullus  (torn.  iii.  It.  S5)  sufficiently  contradioit 
that  opimon 


S« 


THE   SPHINXES  EIDDLE. 


The  most  ancient*  story  in  the  Pagan  records, 
older  by  two  generations  than  the  story  of  Troy,  is 
that  of  (Edipus  and  his  mysterious  fate,  which  wrapt 
in  ruin  both  himself  and  all  his  kindred.  No  story 
whatever  continued  so  long  to  impress  the  Greek 
Bensibilities  with  religious  awe,  or  was  felt  by  the 
great  tragic  poets  to  be  so  supi'emely  fitted  for  seen- 
ical  representation.  In  one  of  its  stages,  this  story 
is  clothed  with  the  majesty  of  darkness  ;  in  another 
stage,  it  is  radiant  with  burning  lights  of  female 
love,  the  most  faithful  and  heroic,  offering  a  beautifiil 
relief  to  the  preternatural  malice  dividing  the  two 
sons  of  (Edipus.  This  malice  was  so  intense,  that 
when  the   corpses   of   both  brothers   were   burned 

*  That  is,  amongst  stories  not  wearing  a  mythologic  character,  such 

R,s  those  of  Prometheus,  Hercules,  Ac.  The  era  of  Troy  and  its  siega 
is  doubtless  by  some  centuries  older  than  its  usual  chronologic  dat« 
i»f  nine  centuries  before  Christ.  And  considering  the  mature  age  of 
Eteocles  and  Polynices,  the  two  sons  of  Qidipus,  at  the  period  of  the 
"  Seven  agaitist  Thebes,''  which  seven  were  contemporary  with  the 
fathers  of  the  heroes  engaged  in  the  Trojan  war,  it  becomes  necessarj 
M  add  sixty  or  seventy  years  to  the  Trojan  date,  in  order  to  obtain 
that  of  CEdipus  and  the  Sphinx.  Out  of  the  Hebrew  Scriptures,  ther* 
e  nothing  purely  historic  so  old  as  this. 


THE  sphinx's  kiddle.  5^3 

together  on  the  same  funeral  pyre  (as  by  one  tracii 
tion  they  were),  the  flames  from  each  parted  asunder, 
and  refused  to  mingle.  This  female  love  was  so 
intense,  that  it  survived  the  death  of  its  object,  cared 
not  for  human  praise  or  blame,  and  laughed  at  the 
grave  which  waited  in  the  rear  for  itself,  yawning 
visibly  for  immediate  retribution.  There  are  four 
separate  movements  through  which  this  impassioned 
tale  devolves  ;  all  are  of  commanding  interest ;  and 
all  wear  a  character  of  portentous  solenmity,  which 
fits  them  for  harmonizing  with  the  dusky  shadows 
of  that  deep  antiquity  into  which  they  ascend. 

One  only  feature  there  is  in  the  story,  and  this 
belongs  to  its  second  stage  (which  is  also  its  sub- 
limest  stage),  where  a  pure  taste  is  likely  to  pause, 
and  to  revolt  as  from  something  not  perfectly  recon- 
ciled with  the  general  depth  of  the  coloring.  This 
lies  in  the  Sphinx's  riddle,  which,  as  hitherto  ex- 
plained, seems  to  us  deplorably  below  the  grandeur 
of  the  occasion.  Three  thousand  years,  at  the  least, 
have  passed  away  since  that  riddle  was  propounded  ; 
and  it  seems  odd  enough  that  the  proper  solution 
should  not  present  itself  till  November  of  1849.  That 
is  true  ;  it  seems  odd,  but  still  it  is  possible,  that 
we,  in  anno  domini  1849,  may  see  further  through  a 
mile-stone  than  (Edipus,  the  king,  in  the  year  b.  c. 
twelve  or  thirteen  hundred.  The  long  interval  be- 
tween the  enigma  and  its  answer  may  remind  the 
reader  of  an  old  story  in  Joe  Miller,  where  a  travel- 
ler, apparently  an  inquisitive  person,  in  passing 
through  a  toll-bar,  said  to  the  keeper,  "  How  do  you 
ike  your  eggs  dressed  ?  "  Without  waiting  for  the 
wiswdr.    he   rode  off;    but  twenty-five  years  later, 


5b4  THE  sphinx's  riddle. 

riding  thi'ough  the  same  bar,  kept  by  tlie  same  man, 
the  traveller  looked  steadfastly  at  him,  and  received 
the  monosyllabic  answer,  "Poached.''  A  long  pa- 
renthesis is  twenty-five  years  ;  and  we,  gazing  back 
over  a  far  wider  gulf  of  time,  shall  endeavor  to  look 
hard  at  the  Sphinx,  and  to  convince  that  mysterious 
young  lady, —  if  our  voice  can  reach  her, —  that  she 
was  too  easily  satisfied  with  the  answer  given  ;  that 
the  true  answer  is  yet  to  come  ;  and  that,  in  fact, 
(Edipus  shouted  before  he  was  out  of  the  wood. 

But,  first  of  all,  let  us  rehearse  the  circumstances 
of  this  old  Grecian  story.  For  in  a  popular  journal 
it  is  always  a  duty  to  assume  that  perhaps  three 
readers  out  of  four  may  have  had  no  opportunity,  by 
the  course  of  their  education,  for  making  themselves 
acquainted  with  classical  legends.  And  in  this 
present  case,  besides  the  indispensableness  of  the 
story  to  the  proper  comprehension  of  our  own  im- 
proved answer  to  the  Sphinx,  the  story  has  a  sepa- 
rate and  independent  value  of  its  own  ;  for  it  illus- 
trates a  profound  but  obscure  idea  of  Pagan  ages, 
which  is  connected  with  the  elementary  glimpses  of 
man  into  the  abysses  of  his  higher  relations,  and 
lurks  mysteriously  amongst  what  Milton  so  finely 
calls  "the  dark  foundations  "  of  our  human  nature. 
This  notion  it  is  hard  to  express  in  modern  phrase, 
for  we  have  no  idea  exactly  corresponding  to  it ;  but 
in  Latin  it  was  called  piacularily.  The  reader  must 
understand  upon  our  authority,  nostro  peHculo,  and 
in  defiance  of  all  the  false  translations  spread  through 
books,  that  tlie  ancients  (meaning  the  Greeks  and 
Romans  before  the  time  of  Christianity^)  had  no  idea, 
not  by  the  faintest  vestige,  of  what  in  the  scriptura 


THE    SPfflNx's    RIDDLE  565 

Bystem  is  called  sin.  The  Latin  word  peccatum,  the 
Greek  word  amartia,  are  translated  continually  by 
the  word  sin ;  but  neither  one  word  nor  the  other 
has  any  such  meaning  in  writers  belonging  to  the 
pure  classical  period,  \^^len  baptized  into  new 
meaning  by  the  adoption  of  Christianity,  these 
words,  in  common  with  many  others,  transmigrated 
into  new  and  philosophic  functions.  But  originally 
they  tended  towards  no  such  acceptations,  nor  could 
have  done  so  ;  seeing  that  the  ancients  had  no 
avenue  opened  to  them  through  which  the  profound 
idea  of  sin  would  have  been  even  dimly  intelligible. 
Plato,  four  hundred  years  before  Christ,  or  Cicero, 
more  than  three  hundred  years  later,  was  fully 
equal  to  the  idea  of  guilt  through  all  its  gamut ;  but 
no  more  equal  to  the  idea  of  sin,  than  a  sagacious 
hound  to  the  idea  of  gravitation,  or  of  central  forces 
It  is  the  tremendous  postulate  upon  which  this  idea 
reposes  that  constitutes  the  initial  moment  of  that 
revelation  which  is  common  to  Judaism  and  to 
Christianity.  We  have  no  intention  of  wandering 
into  any  discussion  upon  this  question.  It  will 
BuflSce  for  the  service  of  the  occasion  if  we  say  that 
guilt,  in  all  its  modifications,  implies  only  a  defect  or 
a  wound  in  the  individual.  Sin,  on  the  other  hand,  the 
most  mysterious,  and  the  most  sorrowful  of  all  ideas, 
implies  a  taint  not  in  the  individual  but  in  the  race  — 
Ihat  is  the  distinction  ;  or  a  taint  in  the  individual, 
not  through  any  local  disease  of  his  own  but  through 
»  scrofula  equally  difiused  through  the  infinite  family 
•,f  man.  We  are  not  speaking  controversially,  either 
Rs  teachers  of  theology  or  of  philosophy  ;  and  we  are 
careless  oi  the  particular  coustruction  by  which  the 


5GC  THE  sphinx's  riddle. 

reader  interprets  to  himself  this  profound  idea. 
What  we  affirm  is,  that  this  idea  was  utterly  and 
exquisitely  inappreciable  by  Pagan  Greece  and  Rome  ; 
that  various  translations  from  Pindar,*  from  Aris- 
tophanes, and  from  the  Greek  tragedians,  embodying 
at  intervals  this  word  sin,  are  more  extravagant  than 
would  be  the  word  category  introduced  into  the  ha- 
rangue of  an  Indian  sachem  amongst  the  Cherokees  ; 
and  finally  that  the  very  nearest  approach  to  the 
abysmal  idea  which  we  Christians  attach  to  the  word 
sin  —  (an  approach,  but  to  that  which  never  can  be 
touched  —  a  writing  as  of  palmistry  upon  each  man's 
hand,  but  a  writing  which  "  no  man  can  read  ")  —  lies 
in  the  Pagan  idea  of  piacularity ;  which  is  an  idea 
thus  far  like  hereditary  sin,  that  it  expresses  an  evil 
to  which  the  party  affected  has  not  conscioiisly 
concurred  ;  which  is  thus  far  not  like  hereditary  sin, 
that  it  expresses  an  evil  personal  to  the  individual 
and  not  extending  itself  to  the  race. 

This  was  the  evil  exemplified  in  (Edipus.  He  was 
loaded  with  an  insupportable  burthen  of  pariah  par, 
ticipation  in  pollution  and  misery,  to  which  his  will 
had  never  consented.  He  seemed  to  have  committed 
the  most  atrocious  crimes  ;  he  was  a  murderer,  he  was 

•  And  when  we  are  speaking  of  this  subject,  it  may  be  proper  t» 
U)ention  (as  the  very  extreme  anachronism  which  the  <tse  admits  of) 
that  Mr.  Archdeacon  W.  has  absolutely  introduced  the  idea  of  sin 
into  the  "  Iliad  ;  "  and,  in  a  regular  octavo  volume,  has  represented  it 
%!i  tne  key  to  the  whole  movement  of  the  fable.  It  was  once  made  a 
reproach  to  Southey  that  his  Don  Roderick  spoke,  in  his  penitential 
moods,  a  language  too  much  resembling  that  of  Methodism  ;  yet, 
lifter  all,  that  prince  was  a  Christian,  and  a  Christian  amongst  Mn* 
lulmans.  But  what  are  we  to  think  of  Achilles  and  PatrooluB^  when 
described  as  being  (or  not  being)  "  under  oonvictions  of  sin"? 


THE   sphinx's    KIDDLB  567 

a  parricide,  he  was  doubly  incestuous,  and  yet  how  f 
In  the  case  where  he  might  be  thought  a  murderer, 
he  had  stood  upon  his  self-defence,  not  benefiting  by 
any  superior  resources,  but,  on  the  contrary,  fighting 
as  one  man  against  three,  and  under  the  provocation 
of  insufferable  insolence.  Had  he  been  a  parricide  ? 
What  matter,  as  regarded  the  moral  guilt,  if  his 
father  (and  by  the  fault  of  that  father)  were  utterly 
unknown  to  him  ?  Incestuous  had  he  been  ?  but 
how,  if  the  very  oracles  of  fate,  as  expounded  by 
events  and  by  mysterious  creatures  such  as  the 
Sphinx,  had  stranded  him,  like  a  ship  left  by  the 
tide,  upon  this  dark  unknown  shore*  of  a  criminality 
unsuspected  by  himself?  All  these  treasons  against 
the  sanctities  of  nature  had  (Edipus  committed  ;  and 
yet  was  this  (Edipus  a  thoroughly  good  man,  no  more 
dreaming  of  the  horrors  in  which  he  was  entangled, 
than  the  eye  at  noonday  in  midsummer  is  conscious 
of  the  stars  that  lie  far  behind  the  daylight.  Let  us 
review  rapidly  the  incidents  of  his  life. 

Laius,  King  of  Thebes,  the  descendant  of  Labdacus, 
and  representing  the  illustrious  house  of  the  Labda- 
cidae,  about  the  time  when  his  wife,  Jocasta,  prom- 
ised to  present  him  with  a  child,  had  learned  from 
various  prophetic  voices  that  this  unborn  child  was 
destined  to  be  his  murderer.  It  is  siugular  that  ni 
all  such  cases,  which  are  many,  spread  through 
classical  literature,  the  parties  menaced  by  fate 
believe  the  menace  ;  else  why  do  tliey  seek  to  evado 
it?  and  yet  believe  it  net;  else  why  do  they  fancy 
Jhemselves  able  to  evade  it  ?  This  fatal  child,  who 
was  the  ffidipus  of  tragedy,  being  at  length  boni; 
V.aiu«  committed  the  infant  to  a  slave,  with  orders  tc 


568  THE  sphinx's  mddle, 

expose  it  en  Mount  Cithaeron.  This  was  d  )ne  ;  the 
infant  was  suspended,  by  thongs  running  through 
the  fleshy  parts  of  his  feet,  to  the  branches  of  a  tree, 
and  he  was  supposed  to  have  perished  by  wild  beasts. 
But  a  shepherd,  who  found  him  in  this  perishing 
state,  pitied  his  helplessness,  and  carried  him  to  his 
master  and  mistress,  Eang  and  Queen  of  Corinth 
who  adopted  and  educated  him  as  their  own  child 
That  he  was  not  their  own  child,  and  that  in  fact  he 
was  a  foundling  of  unknown  parentage,  ffidipus  was 
not  slow  of  finding  from  the  insults  of  his  schoolfel- 
lows ;  and  at  length,  with  the  determination  of  learn- 
ing his  origin  and  his  fate,  being  now  a  full-grown 
young  man,  he  strode  ofi"  from  Corinth  to  Delphi. 
The  oracle  at  Delphi,  being  as  usual  in  collusion  with 
his  evil  destiny,  sent  him  off  to  seek  his  parents  at 
Thebes.  On  his  journey  thither,  he  met,  in  a  nan'ow 
part  of  the  road,  a  chariot  proceeding  in  the  counter 
direction  from  Thebes  to  Delphi.  The  charioteer, 
relying  upon  the  grandeur  of  his  master,  insolently 
ordered  the  young  stranger  to  clear  the  road  ;  upou 
which,  under  the  impulse  of  his  youthful  blood, 
ffidipus  slew  him  on  the  spot.  The  haughty  gran- 
dee who  occupied  the  chariot  rose  up  in  fury  to 
avenge  this  outrage,  fought  with  the  young  stranger, 
and  was  himself  killed.  One  attendant  upcn  the 
chariot  remained  ;  but  he,  warned  by  the  fate  of  his 
jiaster  and  his  fellow-servant,  withdrew  quietly  into 
the  forest  tliat  skirted  the  road,  revealing  no  word  of 
what  had  happened,  but  reserved,  by  the  dark  destiny 
of  (Edipus,  to  that  evil  day  on  which  his  evidence 
concurring  with  other  circumstantial  exposures,  should 
fonvict  th  J  young  Corinthian  emigiant  of  parricide 


THE  sphinx's  riddle.  o69 

For  the  preseut,  (Edipus  viewed  himself  as  no  crimiual, 
but  much  rather  as  an  injured  man,  who  had  simply 
used  his  natural  powers  of  self-defence  against  an  in- 
solent aggressor.  This  aggressor,  as  the  reader  will 
suppose,  was  Laius.  The  throne  therefore  was  empty, 
on  the  arrival  of  (Edipus  in  Thebes  :  the  king's  death 
was  known,  but  not  the  mode  of  it ;  and  that  CEdipus 
was  the  murderer  could  not  reasonably  be  suspected 
either  by  the  people  of  Thebes,  or  by  ffidipus  him- 
self. The  whole  affair  would  have  had  no  interest 
for  the  young  stranger  ;  but,  through  the  accident  of 
a  public  calamity  then  desolating  the  land,  a  mys- 
serious  monster,  called  the  Sphinx,  half  woman  and 
half  lion,  was  at  that  time  on  the  coast  of  Boectia, 
and  levying  a  daily  tribute  of  human  lives  from  the 
Boeotian  territory.  This  tribute,  it  was  understood, 
would  continue  to  be  levied  from  the  territories 
attached  to  Thebes,  until  a  riddle  proposed  by  the 
monster  should  have  been  satisfactorily  solved.  By 
way  of  encouragement  to  all  who  might  feel  prompted 
to  undertake  so  dangerous  an  adventure,  the  author- 
ities of  Thebes  offered  the  throne  and  the  hand  of 
the  widowed  Jocasta  as  the  prize  of  success  ;  ana 
ffidipus,  either  on  public  or  on  selGsh  motives,  entered 
the  lists  as  a  competitor. 

The  riddle  proposed  by  the  Sphinx  ran  in  the&o 
terms  :  "  VV^hat  creature  is  that  which  moves  on  four 
feet  in  the  morning,  on  two  feet  at  noonday,  and  on 
three  towards  the  going  down  of  the  sun  r*  "  Oedipus, 
After  some  consideration,  answered  that  the  creature 
was  Man,  who  creeps  on  tne  ground  with  hands  and 
feet  when  an  infant,  waiks  upright  in  the  vigor  of 
Diauhood,  and  leans  upon  a  staff  in  old  age.     Jmme- 


570 


THK    SPHINX  S    RIDDLE 


diately  tlie  dreadful  Sphinx  confessed  tUe  truth  of  his 
Bolution  by  throwing  herself  headlong  from  a  point  of 
rock  into  the  sea ;  her  power  being  overthrown  as 
soon  as  her  secret  had  been  detected.  Thus  was  the 
Sphinx  destroyed  ;  and,  according  to  the  promise  of 
the  proclamation,  for  this  great  service  to  the  state 
(Edipus  was  immediately  recompensed.  He  was 
suluted  King  of  Thebes,  and  married  to  the  royal 
widow  Jocasta.  In  this  way  it  happened,  but  with- 
out suspicion  either  in  himself  or  others,  pointing  to 
the  truth,  that  (Edipus  had  slain  his  father,  had 
ascended  his  father's  throne,  and  had  married  his 
own  mother. 

Through  a  course  of  years  all  these  dreadful  events 
lay  hushed  in  darkness  ;  but  at  length  a  pestilence 
arose,  and  an  embassy  was  despatched  to  Delphi,  in 
order  to  ascertain  the  cause  of  the  heavenly  wrath, 
and  the  proper  means  of  propitiating  that  wrath. 
The  embassy  returned  to  Thebes  armed  with  a 
knowledge  of  the  fatal  secrets  connected  with 
CEdipus,  but  under  some  restraints  of  prudence  in 
making  a  publication  of  what  so  dreadfully  affected 
the  most  powerful  personage  in  the  state.  Perhaps^ 
in  the  whole  history  of  human  art  as  applied  to  the 
evolution  of  a  poetic  fable,  there  is  nothing  more 
exquisite  than  the  management  of  this  crisis  by 
Sophocles.  A  natural  discovery,  first  of  all,  con- 
nects (Edipus  with  the  death  of  Laius.  That  discov- 
ery comes  upon  him  with  some  surprise,  but  with  no 
shock  of  fear  or  remorse.  That  he  had  killed  a  man 
of  rank  in  a  sudden  quarrel,  he  had  always  known  ; 
that  this  man  was  now  discovered  to  be  Laius,  added 
nothing  to   tlie    reasons  for  regret.     The   affair   re 


THE  sphinx's  riddle.  571 

mained  as  it  was.  It  was  simply  a  case  of  personal 
strife  on  the  iiigh  road;  and  one  which  had  really 
grown  out  of  aristocratic  violence  in  the  adverse 
party.  CEdipus  had  asserted  his  own  rights  and 
dignity  only  as  all  brave  men  would  have  done  in  an 
age  that  knew  nothing  of  civic  police. 

It  was  true  that  this  first  discovery  —  the  identifica- 
tion of  himself  as  the  slayer  of  Laius  —  drew  after  it 
two  others,  namely,  that  it  was  the  throne  of  his 
victim  on  which  he  had  seated  himself,  and  that  it 
was  his  widow  whom  he  had  married.  But  these 
were  no  ofiences  ;  and,  on  the  contrary,  they  were 
distinctions  won  at  great  risk  to  himself,  and  by  a 
great  service  to  the  country.  Suddenly,  however, 
the  reappearance  and  disclosures  of  the  shepherd 
who  had  saved  his  life  during  infancy  in  one  moment 
threw  a  dazzling  but  funereal  light  upon  the  previous 
discoveries  that  else  had  seemed  so  trivial.  In  an 
instant  everything  was  read  in  another  sense.  The 
death  of  Laius,  the  marriage  with  his  widow,  the 
appropriation  of  his  throne,  all  towered  into  colos- 
sal crimes,  illimitable,  and  opening  no  avenues  to 
atonement,  ffidipus,  in  the  agonies  of  his  horror, 
inflicts  blindness  upon  himself;  Jocasta  commits 
uuicide  ;  the  two  sons  fall  into  fiery  feuds  for  the 
assertion  of  their  separate  claims  on  the  throne,  but 
previously  unite  for  the  expulsion  of  CEdipus,  as  one 
who  had  become  a  curse  to  Thebes.  And  thus  the 
poor,  heart-shattered  king  would  have  been  turned 
out  upon  the  public  reads,  aged,  blind,  and  a  helpless 
vagrant,  but  for  the  sublime  piety  of  his  two  daugh- 
ters, but  especially  of  Antigone,  the  elder.  They 
dhare  with  their  unKippy  father  the  hardships  and 


572  THE   SPfflNx's   RIDDLE. 

perils  of  the  road,  and  do  not  leave  h  m  until  the 
moment  of  his  mysterious  summons  to  seme  ineffable 
death  in  the  woods  of  Colonus.  The  expulsion  of 
Polynices,  the  younger  son,  from  Thebes  ;  his  return 
with  a  confederate  band  of  princes  for  the  recovery 
of  his  rights  ;  the  death  of  the  two  brothers  in  single 
combat ;  the  public  prohibition  of  funeral  rights  to 
Polynices,  as  one  who  had  levied  war  against  his 
native  land  ;  and  the  final  reappearance  of  Antigone, 
who  defies  the  law,  and  secures  a  grave  to  her 
brother  at  the  certain  price  of  a  grave  to  herself — 
these  are  the  sequels  and  arrears  of  the  family  ove^- 
throw  accomplished  through  the  dark  destiny  of 
(Edipus. 

And  now,  having  reviewed  the  incidents  of  the 
story,  in  what  respect  is  it  that  we  object  to  the 
solution  of  the  Sphinx's  riddle  ?  We  do  not  object 
to  it  as  a  solution  of  the  riddle,  and  the  only  one 
possible  at  the  moment ;  but  what  we  contend  is, 
that  it  is  not  the  solution.  All  great  prophecies,  all 
great  mysteries,  are  likely  to  involve  double,  triple, 
or  even  quadruple  interpretations  —  each  rising  in 
dignity,  each  cryptically  involving  another,  lilveu 
amongst  natural  agencies,  precisely  as  they  rise  in 
grandeur,  they  multiply  their  final  purposes.  Rivers 
and  seas,  for  instance,  are  useful,  not  merely  as 
means  of  separating  nations  from  each  other,  but 
also  as  means  of  uniting  them  ;  not  merely  as  baths 
and  for  all  purposes  of  washing  and  cleansing,  but 
also  as  reservoirs  of  fish,  as  high-roads  for  the  con- 
veyance of  commodities,  as  permanent  sources  of 
agricultural  fertility,  &c.  In  like  manner,  a  mystery 
of  any  sort,  having  a  public  reference,  may  be  pre 


THE    SPHIKX'S    RIDDLE.  573 

Bumed  to  couch  within  it  a  secondary  and  a  pro- 
founder  interpretation.  The  reader  may  think  that 
the  Sphinx  ought  to  have  understood  her  own  riddle 
best  ;  and  that,  if  «/ie  were  satisfied  with  the  answer 
of  (Edipus,  it  must  be  impertinent  in  us  at  this  time 
of  day  to  censure  it.  To  censure,  indeed,  is  more 
than  we  propose.  The  solution  of  ffidipus  was  a 
true  one ;  and  it  was  all  that  he  could  have  given  in 
that  early  period  of  his  life.  But,  perhaps,  at  the 
moment  of  his  death  amongst  the  gloomy  thickets 
of  Attica,  he  might  have  been  able  to  suggest  another 
and  a  better.  If  not,  then  we  have  the  satisfaction 
of  thinking  ourselves  somewhat  less  dense  than 
(Edipus  ;  for,  in  our  opinion,  the  full  nw^  final  answei 
to  the  Sphinx's  riddle  lay  in  the  word  Qldipus. 
(Edipus  himself  it  was  that  fulfilled  the  conditions 
of  the  enigma.  He  it  was,  in  the  most  pathetic 
sense,  that  went  upon  fuur  feet  when  an  infant ;  for 
the  general  condition  of  helplessness  attached  to  all 
mankind  in  the  period  of  infancy,  and  which  is  ex- 
pressed symbolically  by  this  image  of  creeping,  ap- 
plied to  (Edipus  in  a  far  more  significant  manner,  as 
one  abandoned  by  all  his  natural  protectors,  thrown 
upon  the  chances  of  a  wilderness,  and  upon  the 
mercies  of  a  slave.  The  allusion  to  this  general 
helplessness  had,  besides,  a  special  propriety  in  the 
case  of  (Edipus,  who  drew  his  very  name  (Swollnti' 
fool)  from  the  injury  done  to  his  infant  feet.  lie, 
again,  it  was  that,  in  a  more  emphatic  sense  than 
usual,  asserted  that  majestic  sell-sufficientness  and 
independence  of  all  alien  aid,  which  is  typified  by 
the  act  of  walking  upright  at  noonday  npou  his  own 
natural    basis       Thruwi/g    oil    all    the    power   aod 


574  THE  sphinx's  riddle. 

uplendor  borrowed  from  his  royal  protectors  at 
Corinth,  trusting  exclusively  to  his  native  powers 
as  a  man,  he  had  fought  his  way  through  insult  to 
the  presence  of  the  di-eadful  Sphinx ;  her  he  had 
confounded  and  vanquished  ;  he  had  leaped  into  a 
throne,  — the  throne  of  him  who  had  insulted  him,  — 
without  other  resources  than  such  as  he  drew  from 
himself,  and  he  had,  in  the  same  way,  obtained  a 
royal  bride.  With  good  right,  therefore,  he  was 
foreshadowed  in  the  riddle  as  one  who  walked  up- 
right by  his  own  masculine  vigor,  and  relied  upon 
no  gifts  but  those  of  nature.  Lastly,  by  a  sad  but  a 
pitying  image,  (Edipus  is  described  as  supporting 
himself  at  nightfall  on  three  feet ;  for  CEdipus  it  was 
that  by  his  cruel  sons  would  have  been  rejected  from 
Thebes,  with  no  auxiliary  means  of  motion  or  sup- 
port beyond  his  own  languishing  powers  :  blind  and 
broken-hearted,  he  must  have  wandered  into  snares 
and  ruin  ;  his  own  feet  must  have  been  supplanted 
immediately  :  but  then  came  to  his  aid  another  foot, 
the  holy  Antigone.  She  it  was  that  guided  and 
cheered  him,  when  all  the  world  had  forsaken  him  ; 
she  it  was  that  already,  in  the  vision  of  the  cruel 
Sphinx,  had  been  prefigured  dimly  as  the  staff  upon 
which  CEdipus  should  lean,  as  the  third  foot  that 
should  support  his  steps  when  the  deep  shadows 
of  his  sunset  were  gathering  and  settling  about  his 
grave. 

In  this  way  we  obtain  a  solution  of  the  Sphinx's 
liddle  more  commensurate  and  symmetrical  with 
tJie  other  features  of  the  story,  which  are  all  clothed 
mih  the  grandeur  of  mystery.  The  Sphinx  herself 
Is  a  mystery.     AVhence  came  her  monstrous  nature 


THB    SPHINX'S    RIDDLE. 


575 


ghat  80  often  renewed  its  remembrance  amongst  men 
Df  distant  lands,  in  Egyptian  or  Ethiopian  marble  ? 
Wlience  came  her  wrath  against  Thebes  ?  This 
wrath,  how  durst  it  tower  so  higli  as  to  measure 
itself  against  tlie  enmity  of  a  nation  ?  This  wrath, 
how  came  it  to  sink  so  low  as  to  collapse  at  the  echo 
of  a  word  from  a  fi-iendless  stranger  ?  Mysterious 
again  is  the  blind  collusion  of  this  unhappy  stranger 
with  the  dark  decrees  of  fate.  The  very  misfortunes 
of  his  infancy  had  given  into  his  hands  one  chance 
more  for  escape  :  these  misfortunes  had  transferred 
him  td  Corinth,  and  staying  there  he  was  safe.  But 
the  headstrong  haughtiness  of  youthful  blood  causes 
him  to  recoil  unknowingly  upon  the  one  sole  spot  of 
all  the  earth  where  the  coefficients  for  ratifying  his 
destruction  are  waiting  and  lying  in  ambush.  Heaven 
and  earth  are  silent  for  a  generation  ;  one  might 
fancy  that  they  are  treacherously  silent,  in  order  that 
ffidipus  may  have  time  for  building  up  to  the  clouds 
the  pyramid  of  his  mysterious  oflences.  His  four 
children,  incestuously  born,  sons  that  are  his  broth- 
ers, daughters  that  are  his  sisters,  have  grown  up  to 
be  men  and  women,  before  the  first  mutterings  are 
becoming  audible  of  that  great  tide  slowly  coming 
jp  from  the  sea,  which  is  to  sweep  away  himself 
and  the  foundations  of  his  house.  Heaven  and  earth 
must  now  bear  joint  witness  against  him.  Heaven 
speaks  first :  the  pestilence  that  walketh  in  darkness 
is  made  the  earliest  minister  of  the  discovery,  —  the 
pestilence  it  is,  scourging  the  seven-gated  Thebes, 
as  very  soon  the  Sphinx  will  scourge  her,  that  is 
appointed  to  usher  in,  like  some  great  ceremonial 
herald,  that  sad  drama  of  Nemesis,  —  that  vast  pro* 


576  THE  sphinx's  riddle. 

session  of  revelation  and  retribution  which  the  earth, 
and  the  graves  of  the  earth,  must  finish.  Myste- 
rious also  is  the  pomp  of  ruin  with  which  this  revela- 
tion of  the  past  descends  upon  that  ancient  house 
of  Thebes.  Like  a  shell  from  modern  artillery,  it 
leaves  no  time  for  prayer  or  evasion,  but  shatters  by 
the  same  explosion  all  that  stand  within  its  circle  of 
fury.  Every  member  of  that  devoted  household,  as 
if  they  had  been  sitting  —  not  around  a  sacred  do 
mestic  hearth,  but  around  the  crater  of  some  surging 
volcano  —  all  alike,  father  and  mother,  sons  and 
daughters,  are  wrapt  at  once  in  fiery  whirlwinds  of 
ruin.  And,  amidst  this  general  agony  of  destroying 
wrath,  one  central  mystery,  as  a  darkness  witliin  a 
darkness,  withdraws  itself  into  a  secrecy  unap- 
proachable by  eyesight,  or  by  filial  love,  or  by 
guesses  of  the  brain  —  and  that  is  the  death  of  (Edi- 
pus.  Did  he  die  ?  Even  that  is  more  than  we  can 
say.  How  dreadful  does  the  sound  fall  upon  the 
heart  of  some  poor,  horror-stricken  criminal,  pirate 
or  murderer,  that  has  offended  by  a  mere  human 
offence,  when,  at  nightfall,  tempted  by  the  sweet 
spectacle  of  a  peaceful  hearth,  he  creeps  stealthily 
into  some  village  inn,  and  hopes  for  one  night's 
respite  from  his  terror,  but  suddenly  feels  the  touch, 
and  hears  the  voice,  of  the  stern  officer,  saying, 
"  Sir,  you  are  wanted."  Yet  that  summons  is  but 
too  intelligible  ;  it  shocks,  but  it  bewilders  not ;  and 
the  utmost  of  its  malice  is  bounded  by  the  scaffold. 
"Deep,"  says  the  unhappy  man,  "is  the  downward 
oath  of  anguish  which  I  am  called  to  tread  ;  but  i* 
bas  teen  trodden  by  others."  For  (Edipus  there 
wras  no  such  comfort.     What  language  of  man  oi 


THE  sphinx's  riddle.  577 

trumpet  of  angel  could  deoiphex'  the  woe  of  that  un« 
fathomable  call,  when,  from  the  depth  of  ancient 
woods,  a  voice  that  drew  like  gravitation,  that 
Bucked  in  like  a  vortex,  far  off  yet  near,  in  some 
distant  world  yet  close  at  hand,  cried,  "Hark,  (Ed\- 
pus  1  King  (Edipus  !  come  hither !  thou  art  wanted  !  " 
Wanted  I  for  what  ?  Was  it  for  death  ?  was  it  for 
judgment  ?  was  it  for  some  wilderness  of  pariah 
eternities  ?  No  man  ever  knew.  Chasms  opened  in 
the  earth  ;  dark  gigantic  arms  stretched  out  to  re 
ceive  the  king ;  clouds  and  vapor  settled  over  the 
penal  abyss  ;  and  of  him  only,  though  the  neighbor- 
hood of  his  disappearance  was  known,  no  trace  or 
visible  record  survived  —  neither  bones,  nor  grave, 
nor  dust,  nor  epitaph. 

Did  the  Sphinx  follow  with  her  cruel  eye  this  fatal 
tissue  of  calamity  to  its  shadowy  crisis  at  Colonus  ? 
As  the  billows  closed  over  her  head,  did  she  perhaps 
attempt  to  sting  with  her  dying  words  ?  Did  she 
Bay,  "I,  the  daughter  of  mystery,  am  called;  I  am 
wanted.  But,  amidst  the  uproar  of  the  sea,  and  the 
clangor  of  sea-birds,  high  over  all  I  hear  another 
though  a  distant  summons.  I  can  hear  that  thou, 
(Edipus,  the  son  of  mystery,  art  called  from  afar : 
thou  also  wilt  be  wanted."  Did  the  wicked  Sphinx 
labor  in  vain,  amidst  her  parting  convulsions,  to 
breathe  this  freezing  whisper  into  the  heart  of  him 
that  had  overthrown  her  ? 

Who  can  say  ?  Both  of  these  enemies  were  pariah 
nyr.teries,  and  may  have  faced  each  other  again 
with  blazing  malice  in  some  pariah  world.  But  all 
things  in  this  dreadful  story  ought  to  be  harmonized. 
Already  in  itself  it  is  an  ennobling  and  an  idealizing 
37 


578  THE  sphinx's  riddle. 

of  the  riddle,  that  it  is  made  a  double  riddle  ;  that  it 
contains  an  exoteric  sense  obvious  to  all  the  world, 
but  also  an  esoteric  sense  —  now  suggested  conjee- 
turally  after  thousands  of  years  — possibly  unknown 
to  the  Sphinx,  and  certainly  unknown  to  Oedipus  ; 
that  this  second  riddle  is  hid  within  the  first ;  that 
the  one  riddle  is  the  secret  commentary  upon  the 
3ther ;  and  that  the  earliest  is  the  hieroglyphic  of 
the  last.  Thus  far  as  regards  the  riddle  itself ;  and, 
as  regards  CEdipus  in  particular,  it  exalts  the  mys- 
tery around  him,  that  in  reading  this  riddle,  and  in 
tracing  the  vicissitudes  from  infancy  to  old  age, 
attached  to  the  general  destiny  of  his  race,  uncon- 
Bciously  he  was  tracing  the  dreadful  vicissitudes 
t-ttached  specially  and  separately  to  his  own. 


AELIUS  LAMIA.* 


For  a  period  of  centuries  there  has  existed  an 
enigma,  dark  and  insoluble  as  that  of  the  Sphinx,  in 
the  text  of  Suetonius.  Isaac  Casaubon,  as  modest 
as  he  was  learned,  had  vainly  besieged  it :  then,  iu 
a  mood  of  revolting  arrogance,  Joseph  Scaliger ; 
Ernesti ;  Gronovius  ;  many  others  ;  and  all  without  a 
gleam  of  success.  Had  the  tread-mill  been  awarded 
(as  might  have  been  wished)  to  failure  of  attempts 
at  solution,  under  the  construction  of  having  traded 
in  false  hopes  —  in  smoke-selling,  as  the  Roman  law 
entitled  it  —  one  and  all  of  these  big-wigs  must  have 
mounted  that  aspiring  machine  of  Tantalus,  nolentes 
volentes. 

*  In  this  case  I  acknowledge  no  shadow  of  doubt.  I  have  a 
list  of  conjectural  decipherings  applied  by  classical  doctors  to 
desperate  lesions  and  abscesses  in  the  text  of  famous  classic 
authors  ;  and  I  am  really  ashamed  to  say  that  my  own  emenda- 
tion stands  facile  princeps  among  them  all.  I  must  repeat, 
however,  that  this  preeminence  is  only  that  of  luck  ;  and  I  must 
remind  the  critic,  that,  in  judging  of  this  case,  he  must  not  do 
as  one  writer  did  on  the  first  publication  of  this  little  paper  — 
namely,  entirely  lose  sight  of  the  main  incident  in  the  legend 
of  Orpheus  and  Eurydice.  ^'ever  perhaps  on  this  earth  was  so 
threatening  a  whisper,  a  whisper  so  portentously  significant, 
ittered  between  man  and  man  in  a  single  word,  as  in  that  secret 
taggestion  of  an  Orpheutic  voice  where  a  tvife  was  concerned. 


i'-'^"  AEUUS    LAHIA. 

The  passage  in  Suetonius  which  so  excruciatingly 
(but  so  unprofitably)  has  tormented  the  wits  ot  such 
scholars  as  have  sat  in  judgment  upon  it  through  a 
period  of  three  hundred  and  fifty  years,  arises  in  the 
tenth  section  of  lu'e:  Pomitian.  That  prince,  it  seems, 
had  displayed  in  his  outset  considerable  promise  of 
moral  excellence  ;  in  particular,  neither  rapacity  nor 
cnielty  was  then  apparently  any  feature  in  his  char- 
acter. Both  qualities,  however,  found  a  pretty  large 
and  eai-ly  development  in  his  advancing  career,  but 
cruelty  the  largest  and  earliest.  By  way  of  illustra- 
tion, Suetonius  rehearses  a  list  of  distinguished  men, 
clothed  with  senatorian  or  even  consular  rank,  whom 
he  had  put  to  death  upon  allegations  the  most  friv- 
olous ;  amongst  them,  Aelius  Lamia,  a  nobleman 
whose  wife  he  had  torn  from  him  by  open  and  in- 
sulting violence.  It  may  be  as  well  to  cite  the 
exact  words  of  Suetonius  :  *  "  Aelium  Lamiam  (inter- 
emit)  ob  suspiciosos  quidem,  verum  et  veteres  et  in- 
uoxios  jocos  ;  quod  post  abductam  uxorem  laudanti 
vocem  suam  —  dixerat,  Heu  taceo ;  quodque  Tito 
hortanti  se  ad  alterum  matrimonium,  responderat 
fi-^  x.M<  av  yujxviaut  OHeh;^' — Anglice,  Aelius  Lamia 
he  put  to  death  on  account  of  certain  jests  ;  jests 

*  The  original  Latin  seems  singularly  careless.  Every  (even 
though  inattentive)  reader  says  —  Jnnoxios,  harmless?  But  if 
these  jests  were  harmless,  how  could  he  call  them  suspiciosos 
jalculated  to  rouse  suspicion  ?  The  way  to  justify  the  drift  of 
Suetonius  in  reconcilement  with  his  precise  words  is  thus—  on 
account  of  certain  repartees  which  undeniably  had  borne  a  sense 
justifying  some  uneasiness  and  jealousy  at  the  time  of  utterance, 
but  which  the  e^rent  had  shown  to  be  practically  harmless,  what 
Bver  had  been  the  intention,  and  which  were  now  obsolete. 


ABLIUS    LAMIA.  581 

liable  to  some  jealousy,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  of 
old  standing,  and  that  had  in  fact  proved  harmless 
as  regarded  practical  consequences  —  namely,  that 
to  one  who  praised  his  voice  as  a  singer  he  had 
replied,  Heu  taceo ;  and  that,  on  another  occasion, 
in  reply  to  the  Emperor  Titus,  when  urging  him  to 
a  second  marriage,  he  had  said,  "  What  now,  I  sup- 
pose you  are  looking  out  for  a  wife  ?  " 

The  latter  Jest  is  intelligible  enough,  stinging,  and 
in  a  high  degree  witty.  As  if  the  young  men  of  the 
Flavian  family  could  fancy  no  wives  but  such  as  they 
had  won  by  violence  from  other  men,  he  affects  in  a 
bitter  sarcasm  to  take  for  granted  that  Titus,  in 
counselling  his  friends  to  marry,  was  simply  con- 
templating the  first  step  towards  creating  a  fund  of 
eligible  wives.  The  primal  qualification  of  any  lady 
as  a  consort  being,  in  Flavian  eyes,  that  she  had  been 
torn  away  violently  from  a  fi'iend,  it  became  evident 
that  the  preliminary  step  towards  a  Flavian  wedding 
was,  to  persuade  some  incautious  friend  into  marry- 
ing, and  thus  putting  himself  into  a  capacity  of 
being  robbed.  Such,  at  least  in  the  stinging  jest  of 
Lamia,  was  the  Flavian  rule  of  conduct.  And  his 
friend  Titus,  therefore,  simply  as  the  brother  of 
Domitian,  simply  as  a  Flavian,  he  affected  to  regard 
as  indirectly  and  provisionally  extending  his  own 
conjugal  fund,  whenever  he  prevailed  on  a  friend  tc 
select  a  wife. 

The  latter  jest,  therefore,  when  once  apprehended, 
speaks  broadly  and  bitingly  for  itself  But  the 
other,  —  what  can  it  possibly  mean  ?  For  centuries 
has  that  question  been  reiterated  ;  and  hitherto  with 


5b2  AEMUS    LAMIA. 

out  advancing  by  one  step  nearer  to  solution.  Isaac 
Casaubon,  who  about  two  hundred  and  fifty  yearij 
since  was  the  leading  oracle  in  this  field  of  literature, 
writing  an  elaborate  and  continuous  commentary 
upon  Suetonius,  found  himself  unable  to  suggest  any 
real  aids  for  dispersing  the  thick  darkness  overhang- 
ing the  passage.  What  he  says  is  this  :  "  Parum  satis- 
fa^iunt  mihi  iuterpretes  in  explicatione  hujus  Lamiae 
dicti.  Nam  quod  putant  Heu  taceo  suspirium  esse 
ejus — indicem  doloris  ob  abductam  uxorem  magni  sed 
latentis,  nobis  non  ita  videtur ;  sed  notatam  potius 
fuisse  tyrannidem  principis,  qui  omnia  in  suo  genere 
pulchra  et  excelleutia  possessoribus  eriperet,  unde 
necessitas  incurabebat  sua  bona  dissimulandi  celan- 
dique."  In  English  thus  :  Not  at  all  satisfactory  to 
me  are  the  commentators  in  the  explanation  of  the 
dictum  (here  equivalent  to  dicleriuvi)  of  Lamia. 
For,  whereas  they  imagine  Heu  taceo  to  be  a  sigh  of 
his,  —  the  record  and  indication  of  a  sorrow,  great 
though  concealed,  on  behalf  of  the  wife  that  had 
been  violently  torn  away  from  him,  —  me,  I  confess, 
the  case  does  not  strike  in  that  light ;  but  rather 
that  a  satiric  blow  was  aimed  at  the  despotism  of 
the  sovereign  piince,  who  tore  away  from  their  pos- 
sessors all  objects  whatsoever  marked  by  beauty  or 
distinguished  merit  in  their  own  peculiar  class ; 
whence  arose  a  pressure  of  necessity  for  dissembhng 
and  hiding  their. own  advantages.  "Sic  esse  ex- 
pone7idum,"  that  such  is  the  true  interpretation  (con- 
tinues Casaubon,)  "  decent  ilia  verba  [laudanti  voceii 
suam]  "  (we  are  instructed  by  these  words),  [to  one 
who  praised  his  singing  voice,  &c  j 


AEUUS    LAMIA.  583 

This  commentary  was  obscure  enough,  and  did  no 
particular  honor  to  the  native  good  sense  of  Isaac 
Oasaubon,  usually  so  conspicuous.  For,  whilst  pro 
claiming  a  settlement,  in  reality  it  settled  nothing. 
Naturally,  it  made  but  a  feeble  impression  upon  the 
scholars  of  the  day  ;  and  not  long  after  the  publica- 
tion of  the  book,  Casaubon  received  from  Joseph 
Scaliger  a  friendly  but  gasconading  letter,  in  which 
th%t  great  scholar  brought  forward  a  new  reading  — 
namely,  ct/rux-iw,  to  which  he  assigned  a  profound 
technical  value  as  a  musical  term.  No  person  even 
affected  to  understand  Scaliger.  Casaubon  himself, 
while  treating  so  celebrated  a  man  with  kind  and 
considerate  deference,  yet  frankly  owned  that,  in  all 
his  vast  reading,  he  had  never  met  with  this  Greek 
word  in  such  a  sense.  But,  without  entering  into 
any  dispute  upon  that  verbal  question,  and  conced- 
ing to  Scaliger  the  word  and  his  own  interpretation 
of  the  word,  no  man  could  understand  in  what  way 
this  new  resource  was  meant  to  affect  the  ultimate 
[uestion  at  issue  —  namely,  the  extrication  of  the 
passage  from  that  thick  darkness  which  overshad- 
iiwed  it. 

"  As  you  were"  (to  speak  in  the  phraseology  of 
military  drill),  was  in  effect  the  word  of  command. 
All  things  reverted  to  their  original  condition  ;  and 
two  centuries  of  darkness  again  enveloped  this  un- 
solved or  insoluble  perplexity  cf  Roman  literature. 
The  darkness  had  for  a  few  moments  seemed  to  be 
unsettling  itself  in  preparation  for  flight ;  but  imme- 
diately it  rolled  back  again  ;  and  through  seven  gen- 
erations of  men  this  darkness  was  heavier,  becaus*' 


584  AELIUS    LAMIA. 

now  loaded  with  disappointment,  and  in  that  degree 

■ess  hopeful  than  before. 

At  length  then,  I  believe,  all  things  are  ready  for 
the  explosion  of  a  catastrophe :  "  Which  catas- 
trophe," I  hear  some  malicious  reader  whispering, 
'  is  doubtless  destined  to  glorify  himself"  (meaning 
the  unworthy  writer  of  this  little  paper).  I  cannot 
deny  it.  A  truth  is  a  truth.  And,  since  no  medal, 
nor  ribbon,  nor  cross  of  any  known  order,  is  disposa- 
ble for  the  most  brilliant  successes  in  dealing  with 
desperate  (or  what  may  be  called  condemned)  pas- 
sages in  pagan  literature,  —  mere  sloughs  of  despond 
that  yawn  across  the  pages  of  many  a  heathen  dog, 
poet  and  orator,  that  1  could  mention,  —  so  much  the 
more  reasonable  it  is  that  a  large  allowance  should 
be  served  out  of  boasting  and  self-glorification  to  all 
those  whose  merits  upon  this  field  national  govern- 
ments have  neglected  to  proclaim.  The  Scaligers, 
both  father  and  son,  I  believe,  acted  upon  this  doc- 
trine ;  and  drew  largely  by  anticipation  upon  that 
leversionary  bank  which  they  conceived  to  be  an- 
swerable for  such  drafts.  Joseph  Scaliger,  it  strikes 
me,  was  drunk  when  he  wrote  his  letter  on  the  pres- 
ent occasion,  and  in  that  way  failed  to  see  (what 
Casaubon  saw  clearly  enough)  that  he  had  com- 
menced shouting  before  he  was  out  of  the  wood. 
For  my  own  part,  if  I  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  the 
result  promises,  in  the  Frenchman's  phrase,  "  to 
cover  me  with  glory,"  I  beg  the  reader  to  remembei 
that  the  idea  of  "  covering"  is  of  most  variable  ex 
tent.  The  glory  may  envelop  one  in  a  voluminous 
robe,  a  princely  mantle  that  may  require  a  long  suite 


AELIUS    LAMIA.  585 

of  train-bearers,  or  may  pinch  and  vice  one's  arms 
into  that>  succinct  garment  (now  superannuated) 
which  some  eighty  years  ago  drew  its  name  from  the 
distinguished  Whig  family  in  England  of  Spencer. 

All  being  now  ready,  and  the  arena  being  cleared 
of  competitors  (for  I  suppose  it  is  fully  understood 
that  everybody  but  myself  has  retired  from  the  con- 
test), let  it  be  clearly  understood  what  it  is  that  the 
contest  turns  upon.  Supposing  that  one  had  been 
called,  like  (Edipus  of  old,  to  a  turn-up  with  that 
venerable  girl  the  Sphinx,  most  essential  it  would 
have  been  that  the  clerk  of  the  course  (or  however 
you  designate  the  judge,  the  umpire,  &c.)  should 
have  read  the  riddle  propounded  ;  how  else  judge  of 
the  solution  ?  At  present  the  elements  of  the  case 
to  be  decided  stand  thus  : 

A  Roman  noble,  a  man  in  fact  of  senatorial  rank, 
has  been  robbed,  robbed  with  violence,  and  with 
cruel  scorn,  of  a  lovely  3'oung  wife,  to  whom  he  was 
most  tenderly  attached.  But  by  whom  ?  the  indig- 
nant reader  demands.     By  a  younger  son*  of  the 


*  But  holding  what  rank,  and  what  precise  station,  at  the  time 
of  the  outrage?  At  this  point  I  acknowledge  a  difficulty.  The 
sriminal  was  Li  this  case  Domitian,  the  younger  son  of  the  tenth 
Caesar,  namely,  of  Vespasian  ;  2dly,  younger  brother  of  Titus, 
■he  eleventh  Caesar  ;  and  himself,  3dly,  under  the  name  of  Domi- 
tian, the  twelfth  of  the  Caesars.  Now,  the  difficulty  lies  here, 
which  yet  I  have  never  seen  noticed  in  any  book  :  was  this  violence 
perpetrated  before  or  after  Doniitian's  assumption  of  the  purple? 
i{  after,  how,  then,  could  the  injured  husband  have  received  that 
fcdvice  from  Titus  (as  to  repairing  his  loss  by  a  second  marriage), 
which  suggested  the  earliest  bon-mot  between  Titua  and  Lamia  , 


1)86  aeuus  lamia. 

Roman  Emperor  "Vespasian.  For  some  years  the 
wrong  has  been  borne  in  silence.  The  sufferer  knew 
himself  to  be  powerless  as  against  such  an  oppres- 
sor ;  and  that  to  show  symptoms  of  impotent  hatred 
was  but  to  call  down  thunderbolts  upon  his  own 
head.  Generally,  therefore,  prudence  had  guided 
him.  Patience  had  been  the  word  ;  silence,  and  be- 
low all,  the  deep,  deep  word,  watch  and  wait!  It  is, 
however,  an  awful  aggravation  of  such  afflictions, 
that  the  lady  herself  might  have  cooperated  in  the 
later  stages  of  the  tragedy  with  the  purposes  of  the 
imperial  ruffian.  Lamia  had  been  suffered  to  live, 
because,  as  a  living  man,  he  yielded  up  into  the  hands 
of  his  tormentor  his  whole  capacity  of  suffering ;  no 
part  of  it  escaped  the  hellish  range  of  his  enemy's 
eye.     But  this  advantage  for  the  torturer  had  also 

Yet,  again,  if  not  after  but  before,  how  was  it  that  Lamia  had  not 
invoked  the  protection  of  Vespasian,  or  of  Titus  —  the  latter  of 
whom  enjoyed  a  theatrically  fine  reputation  for  equity  and  mod- 
eration ?  By  the  way,  another  bon~mot  arose  out  of  this  brutal 
Domitian's  evil  reputation.  He  had  a  taste  for  petty  cruelties  ; 
especially  upon  the  common  house-fly,  which,  in  the  Syrian  my- 
thology, enjoys  the  condescending  patronage  of  the  god  Belzebub. 
Flies  did  Caesar  massacre,  in  spite  of  Belzebub,  by  bushels  ;  and 
the  carnage  was  the  greater,  because  this  Apollyon  of  flies  was 
always  armed  ;  since  the  metallic  stylus,  with  which  the  Roman 
ploughed  his  waxen  tablets  in  writing  memoranda,  was  the  best 
of  weapons  in  a  pitched  battle  with  a  fly  ;  in  fact,  Caesar  had  an 
unfair  advantage.  Meantime  this  habit  of  his  had  become  noto- 
rious ;  and  one  day  a  man,  wishing  for  a  private  audience,  in- 
quired  in  the  antechambers  if  Caesar  were  alone?  Quite  alone, 
wsw  the  reply.  "Are  you  sure?  Is  nobody  with  him  ? '  JVb 
kody  ;  not  so  muck  us  ajly  {ne  musca  quidam). 


AEUUS    LAMIA.  587 

kts  weak  and  doubtful  side.  Use  and  monotony 
might  secretly  be  wearing  away  the  edge  of  the 
organs  on  and  through  which  the  corrosion  of  the 
inner  heart  proceeded.  And  when  that  point  was 
reached — a  callousness  which  neutralized  the  further 
powers  of  the  tormentor  —  it  then  became  the  true 
policy  of  such  a  fiend  (as  being  his  one  sole  unex- 
hausted resource)  to  inflict  death.  On  the  whole, 
therefore,  putting  together  the  facts  of  the  case,  it 
seems  to  have  been  resolved  that  he  should  die  ;  but 
previously  that  he  should  drink  off  a  final  cup  of  an- 
guish, the  bitterest  that  liad  yet  been  offered.  The 
lady  herself,  again,  had  she  also  suffered  in  sympathy 
with  her  martyred  husband  ?  That  must  have  been 
known  to  a  certainty  in  the  outset  of  the  case  by  him 
that  knew  too  profoundly  on  what  terms  of  love  they 
had  lived.  Possibly  to  resist  indefinitely  might  have 
menaced  herself  with  ruin,  whilst  ofiering  no  benefit 
to  her  husband.  There  is  besides  this  dreadful  fact, 
placed  ten  thousand  times  on  record,  that  the  very 
goodness  of  the  human  heart  in  such  a  case  ministers 
fuel  to  the  moral  degradation  of  a  female  combatant. 
Any  woman,  and  exactly  in  proportion  to  the  moral 
sensibility  of  her  nature,  finds  it  painful  to  live  in 
the  same  house  with  a  man  not  odiously  repulsive  in 
manners  or  in  person  on  tei'ms  of  eternal  hostility. 
What  it  was  circumstantially  that  passed,  long  since 
aas  been  overtaken  and  swallowed  up  by  the  vast 
oblivions  of  time.  This  only  survives  —  namely, 
Aat  what  Lamia  had  said  gave  signal  offence  in  the 
nighest  quarter,  was  'lot  forgotten,  and  that  his  death 
followed  eventually.     But  what  was  it  that  he  did 


588 


AELIUS    LAMIA. 


Bay  ?  That  is  precisely  the  question,  and  the  whole 
question  which  we  have  to  answer.  At  present  we 
know,  and  we  do  not  know,  what  it  was  that  he  said. 
We  find  bequeathed  to  us  by  history  the  munificent 
legacy  of  two  words  —  involving  eight  letters  — 
which  in  their  pi'esent  form,  with  submission  to  cer 
tain  grandees  of  classic  literature,  more  particularly 
to  the  scoundrelJoe  Scaliger  (son  of  the  old  original 
ruflSan,  J.  C.  Scaliger),  mean  exactly  nothing.  These 
two  words  must  be  regarded  as  the  raw  material 
upon  which  we  have  to  work  ;  and  out  of  these  we 
are  required  to  turn  out  a  rational,  but  also,  be  it 
observed,  a  memorably  caustic  saying  for  Aelius 
Lamia,  under  the  following  five  conditions  :  First,  it 
must  allude  to  his  wife,  as  one  that  is  lost  to  him 
irrecoverably  ;  secondly,  it  must  glance  at  a  gloomy 
tyrant  who  bars  him  from  rejoining  her ;  thirdly,  it 
must  reply  to  the  compliment  which  had  been  paid 
to  the  sweetness  of  his  own  voice  ;  fourthly,  it  should 
in  strictness  contain  some  allusion  calculated  not 
only  to  irritate,  but  even  to  alarm  or  threaten  his 
jealous  and  vigilant  enemy,  else  how  was  it  suspi- 
cious ?  fifthly,  doing  all  these  things,  it  ought  also 
to  absorb,  as  its  own  main  elements,  the  eight  letters 
contained  in  the  present  senseless  words  —  '•  Heu 
taceo." 

Here  is  a  monstrous  quantity  of  work  to  throw 
upon  any  two  words  in  any  possible  language 
Even  Shakspeare's  clown,*  when  challenged  to  fur 
aish  a  catholic  answer  applicable  to  all  conceivable 

•See  All  'i  Well  that  Ends  Well,  Act  ii.,  Scene  2 


ABLIUS    LAMIA.  539 

occasions,  cannot  do  it  in  less  than  nine  letters, 
namely,  0  lord,  sir  I  I,  for  my  part,  satisfied  that 
the  existing  form  of  Heu  taceo  was  mere  indict- 
able and  punishable  nonsense,  but  j'et  that  this  non- 
sense must  enter  as  chief  element  into  the  stinging 
sense  of  Lamia,  gazed  for  I  cannot  tell  how  many 
weeks  (weeks,  indeed !  say  years)  at  these  im- 
pregnable letters,  viewing  them  sometimes  as  a  for- 
tress that  I  was  called  upon  to  escalade,  sometimes 
as  an  anagram  that  I  was  called  upon  to  reorganize 
into  the  life  which  it  had  lost  through  some  disloca- 
tion of  arrangement.  One  day  I  looked  at  it  through 
a  microscope  ;  next  day  1  looked  at  it  from  a  dis- 
tance through  a  telescope.  Then  I  reconnoitred  it 
downwards  from  the  top  round  of  a  ladder  \  then 
upwards,  in  partnership  with  Truth,  from  the  bottom 
of  a  well.  Finally,  the  result  in  which  I  landed, 
and  which  fulfilled  all  the  conditions  laid  down,  was 
this  :  Let  me  premise,  however,  what  at  any  rate  the 
existing  darkness  attests,  that  some  disturbance  of 
the  text  must  in  some  way  have  arisen,  whether 
from  the  gnawing  of  a  rat,  or  the  spilling  of  some 
obliterating  fluid  at  this  point  of  some  unique  MS. 
It  is  sufficient  for  us  that  the  vital  word  has  sur- 
vived. I  suppose,  therefore,  that  Lamia  had  ;eplied 
to  the  friend  who  praised  the  sweetness  of  his  voice, 
"  Sweet,  is  it  ?  Ah,  would  to  Heaven  it  might  prove 
*o  sweet  as  to  be  even  Orphoutic  I  '*  Ominous  in 
this  case  would  be  the  word  Orphoutic  to  the  ears 
of  Domitian  ;  for  every  schoolboy  knows  that  this 
means  a  wife-revoking  voice.  Let  me  remark  that 
there  is  such  a  legitimate  word  as    Orpheutaceam  ; 


590  AELIUS    r.AMIA. 

and  in  that  case  the  Latin  repartee  of  Lamif  would 
stand  thus  :  Suavem  dixisti  ?  Quam  ve.llem  et  <  "pheu- 
taceam.  But,  perhaps,  reader,  you  fail  to  rr  agnize 
in  this  form  our  old  friend  Hea  taceo.  But  hi  o  he  is 
to  a  certainty,  in  spite  of  the  rat ;  and  in  a  >  fferent 
form  of  letters  the  compositor  will  show  hi/*,  up  to 
you,  as  vellem  et  Orp  [IlEU  TACEAM].  Here, 
then,  shines  out  at  once,  (1)  Eurydice  */io  lovely 
wife  ;  (2)  detained  by  the  gloomy  tyrant  ''luto  ;  (3) 
who,  however,  is  forced  into  surrendering  her  to  her 
husband,  whose  voice  (the  sweetest  ever  known) 
drew  stocks  and  stones  to  follow  him,  and  finally  his 
wife  ;  (4)  the  word  Orpheutic  involves,  therefore,  an 
alarming  threat,  showing'  that  the  hope  of  rf  covering 
the  lady  still  survived;  (5)  we  now  finl  ia^  olved 
in  the  restoration  all  the  eight,  or  perhaf->  'ni^-,  let- 
ters of  the  erroneous  (and  for  so  long  a  tJ  ;  \  tiaiO'^ 
ligible)  form. 


NOTES. 

NoTB  1.    Page  9. 

*'  A  million  and  a  half,"  which  was  the  true  numerical  retnrJi 
»f  population  from  the  English  capital  about  twenty  years  back, 
when  this  paper  was  written.  At  present,  and  for  some  time, 
it  has  stood  at  two  millions  plus  as  many  thousands  as  express 
the  days  of  a  solar  year.  But,  if  adjusted  to  meet  the  correc- 
tions due  upon  the  annual  growths  of  the  people,  in  that  case 
the  true  return  must  now  (viz.,  January  of  the  year  1859)  show 
a  considerable  excess  beyond  two  and  a  half  millions.  Do  we 
mean  to  as.sert,  then,  that  the  ancient  Rome  of  the  Cffisars,  that 
mighty  ancestral  foreninner  of  the  Papal  Rome,  which,  in  this 
year  18.59,  counts  about  180,000  citizens  (or,  in  fact,  above  Edin- 
burgh by  a  trifle  ;  by  200,000  below  Glasgow  ;  by  150,000  below 
Manchester),  did  in  reality  ever  surmount  numerically  the  now 
awful  Loudon  1  Is  that  what  we  mean  ?  Yes ;  that  is  what 
we  mean.  We  must  remember  the  prodigious  area  which  Rome 
stretched  over.  We  must  remember  that  feature  in  the  Roman 
domestic  architecture  (so  impressively  iusisted  on  by  the  rhetor- 
ician Aristides),  in  which  the  ancient  Rome  resembled  the  an- 
cient Edinburgh,  and  so  far  greatly  eclipsed  London,  viz.,  the 
vast  ascending  series  of  stories,  laying  stratum  upon  stratum, 
tier  upon  tier,  of  men  and  women,  as  ir  some  mighty  theatre  of 
human  hives  Not  that  London  is  deficient  in  thousands  of 
lofty  streets;  but  the  stories  rarely  ascend  beyond  the  fourth, 
or,  at  most,  the  fifth  ;  whereas  the  old  Rome  and  the  old  Edin- 
burgh counted  at  intervals  by  sevens  or  even  tens.  This  dement 
in  the  calculation  being  allowed  for,  perhaps  the  four  millions 
of  Lipsius  may  seem  a  reasonable  population  for  the  flourishing 
days  of  Caesarian  Rome,  which  ran  far  ahead  of  Republican 
Rome.     On  this  assumption,  Rome  wiU  take  the  Jirst   place, 


592  NOTES- 

London  (as  it  now  is)  the  second,  Paris  (of  to-day)  the  third. 
New  York  (800,000),  and  probably  the  ancient  Alexandria,  the 
fourth  places  on  the  world's  register  of  mighty  metropolitan 
cities.  Babylon  and  Nineveh  are  too  entirely  within  the  ex- 
aggerating influences  of  misty  traditions  and  nursery  fables, 
like  the  vapoury  exhalations  of  the  Fata  Morgana  —  a  species 
of  delusion  resting  upon  a  primary  basis  of  reality,  but  repeat- 
ing this  reality  so  often,  through  endless  self-multiplication,  by 
means  of  optical  reflection  and  refraction,  that  the  final  result 
is  little  better  than  absolute  fiction.  And  universally  with 
regard  to  Asiatic  cities  (above  all,  with  regard  to  Chinese 
cities),  the  reader  must  carry  with  him  these  cautions :  — 

\st,  That  Asiatics,  with  rare  exceptions,  have  little  regard  for 
truth :  by  habit  and  policy  they  are  even  more  mendacious  than 
they  are  perfidious,  fidelity  to  engagements,  sincerity,  and 
disinterested  veracity,  rank,  in  Oriental  estimates,  as  the  per 
fection  of  idiocy. 

2d,  That,  having  no  liberal  curiosity,  the  Chinese  man  never 
troubles  his  head  about  the  statistical  circumstances  of  his  own 
city,  province,  or  natal  territory.  Such  researches  he  would 
regard  as  ploughing  the  sands  of  the  sea-shore,  or  counting  the 
waves. 

3rf,  That  two  grounds  of  falsification  being  thus  laid,  in  (A) 
the  ostentatious  mendacity,  and  (B)  which  glories  in  its  own 
blindness,  the  ignorance  of  all  those  who  ought  to  be  authorities 
upon  such  questions,  a  third  ground  arises  naturally  from  the 
peculiar  and  special  character  of  Eastern  cities,  which,  for  all 
European  ears,  too  readily  aids  in  misleading.  Too  often  such 
cities  are  improvised  by  means  of  mud,  turf,  light  spars,  canvas, 
&c.  Hibernian  cabins,  Scotch  bothies  (which  word  is  radically 
the  same  as  the  booth  of  English  fairs),  hovels  for  sheltering 
cattle  from  the  weather,  —  or  buildings  of  a  similar  style  and 
fugitive  make-shift  character,  under  the  hurried  workmanship 
of  three  or  four  hundred  thousand  men,  run  up  within  a  single 
forenoon  a  perishable  town  that  meets  the  necessities  of  a  south- 
ern climate,  Schiller,  in  his  "  Wallenstein,",  sketches  such  a 
light  canvas  town  as  the  hurried  extempore  creation  of  soldiers* 
Bchill^'s  description  is  a  sketch ;  and  such  a  military  creatioB 


NOTES.  593 

is  itself  but  a  sketch  of  a  regular  and  finished  town.  Military 
by  its  first  outline  and  suggestion,  such  a  frail  scenical  town 
always  retains  its  military  make-shift  character  ;  and  is,  in  fact, 
to  the  very  last,  an  encampment  of  gipsies  or  migrating  trav- 
ellers, rather  than  an  architectural  residence  of  settlers  who 
have  ceased  from  vagrancy.  Even  as  an  improvised  home,  such 
a  stage  mimicry  of  a  city  could  find  toleration  only  in  a  warm 
climate.  But  such  a  climate,  and  such  slender  masquerading 
abodes,  are  found  throughout  the  Northern  Tropic  in  the  south- 
cm  regions  of  Asia. 

NoTB  2.    Page  10. 
Or  even  of  modem  wit;  witness  the  vain  attempt  of  so  many 
eminent  JCn,  and  illustrioas  Antecessors,  to  explain  in  self-con- 
listency  the  differing  functions  of  the  Roman  Caesar,  and  in  what 
lense  he  was  legibus  soluttu. 


Note  3.    Page  12. 

•  JVamelest  city.'  —  The  true  name  of  Rome  it  was  a  point  of 
religion  to  conceal;  and,  in  fact,  it  was  never  revealed. 

Note  4.  Page  16. 
This  we  mention,  because  a  great  error  has  been  sometimea 
eommitted  in  exposing  their  error,  that  consisted,  not  in  suppos- 
ing that  for  a  fifth  time  men  were  to  be  gathered  under  one 
Bceptre,  and  that  sceptre  wielded  by  Jesus  Christ,  but  in  sup- 
posing that  this  great  era  had  then  arrived,  or  that  with  no 
deeper  moral  revolution  men  could  be  fitted  for  that  yoke. 

Note  5.    Page  20. 

•  0/  ancient  days.'  —  For  it  is  remarkable,  and  it  serves  to 
mark  an  indubitable  progress  of  mankind,  that,  before  the  Chris- 
tian era,  famines  were  of  frequent  occurrence  in  countries  th« 
most  civilized.'  afterwards  they  became  rare,  and  latterly  hav« 
■itirely  altered  their  character  into  occasional  dearths. 


594  MOTHS. 


Note  6.  Page  20. 
Unless  that  hand  were  her  own  armed  against  herself ;  upon 
which  topic  there  is  a  burst  of  noble  eloquence  in  one  of  the  an* 
cient  Panegyrici,  when  haranguing  the  Emperor  Theodosius  :  — 
•  Thou,  Borne  !  that,  having  once  suffered  by  the  madness  of  Ginna, 
and  of  the  cruel  Marius  raging  from  banishment,  and  of  Sylla, 
that  won  his  wreath  of  prosperity  from  thy  disasters,  and  cf 
Cassar,  compassionate  to  the  dead,  didst  shudder  at  every  blast  of 
the  trumpet  filled  by  the  breath  of  civil  commotion,  —  thou,  that, 
besides  the  wreck  of  thy  soldiery  perishing  on  either  side,  didst 
bewail,  amongst  thy  spectacles  of  domestic  woe,  the  luminaries  of 
thy  senate  extinguished,  the  heads  of  thy  consuls  fixed  upon  a 
halberd,  weeping  for  ages  over  thy  self-slaughtered  Catos,  thy 
headless  Ciceros  {truncosque  Cicerones),  and  unburied  Pompeya, 
—  to  whom  the  party  madness  of  thy  own  children  had  wrought 
in  every  age  heavier  woe  than  the  Carthaginian  thundering  at  thy 
gates,  or  the  Gaul  admitted  within  thy  walls;  on  whom  (Emathia, 
more  fatal  than  the  day  of  Allia,  —  Collina,  more  dismal  than 
Cannae,  —  had  inflicted  such  deep  memorials  of  wounds,  that, 
from  bitter  experience  of  thy  own  valor,  no  enemy  was  to  thee  so 
formidable  as  thyself;  —  thou,  Rome  !  didst  now  for  the  first  time 
Dehold  a  civil  war  issuing  in  a  hallowed  prosperity,  a  soldiery 
appeased,  recovered  Italy,  and  for  thyself  liberty  established. 
Now  first  in  thy  long  annals  thou  didst  rest  from  a  civil  war  in 
such  a  peace,  that  righteously,  and  with  maternal  tenderness, 
thou  mightst  claim  for  it  the  honors  of  a  civic  triumph.' 

Note  7.    Page  23. 
The  fact  is,  that  the  emperor  was  more  of  a  sacred  and  divint 
creature  in  his  lifetime  than  after  his  death.     His  consecrated 
character  as  a  living  ruler  was  a  truth;  his  canonization,  a 
6otir  a  of  tenderness  to  his  memory. 

NoTK  8.     Page  88. 

It  is  aa  interesting  circumstance  in  the  habits  of  the  ancient 

Romans,  that  their  journeys  were  pursued  very  much  in  th« 

night-time,  and  by  torch-light.     Cicero,  in  one  of  his  letters. 

■peaks  of  passing  through  the  towns  of  Italy  by  night,  as  a  ser 


H0TS8.  595 

9iueah1e  scheme  for  some  political  purpose,  either  of  avoiding  too 
Kiach  to  publish  his  motions,  or  of  evading  the  necessity  (else 
perhaps  not  avoidable),  of  drawing  out  the  party  sentiments  of 
the  magistrates  in  the  circumstances  of  honor  or  neglect  witk 
which  they  might  choose  to  receive  him.  His  words,  however, 
imply  that  the  practice  was  by  no  means  an  uncommon  one. 
And,  indeed,  from  some  passages  in  writers  of  the  Augustan  era, 
it  would  seem  that  this  custom  was  not  confined  to  people  of  dis- 
cinction,  but  was  familiar  to  a  class  of  travellers  so  low  in  rank 
K8  to  be  capable  of  abusing  their  opportunities  of  concealment  for 
the  infliction  of  wanton  iujui-y  upon  the  woods  and  fences  which 
bounded  the  margin  of  the  high-road.  Under  the  cloud  of  night 
and  solitude,  the  mischief-loving  traveller  was  often  in  the  habit 
of  applying  his  torch  to  the  withered  boughs  of  woods,  or  to  arti- 
ficial hedges;  and  extensive  ravages  by  fire,  such  as  now  happen 
not  unfrequently  in  the  American  woods,  (but  generally  from 
earelessnesa  in  scattering  the  glowing  embers  of  a  fire,  or  even 
the  ashes  of  a  pipe,)  were  then  occasionally  the  result  of  mere 
wantonness  of  mischief.  Ovid  accordingly  notices,  as  one  amongst 
the  familiar  images  of  daybreak,  the  half-burnt  torch  of  the  trav- 
eller; and,  apparently,  from  the  position  which  it  holds  in  hia 
description,  where  it  is  ranked  with  the  most  familiar  of  all  cir- 
cumstances in  all  countries,  —  that  of  the  rural  laborer  going  cut 
to  his  morning  tasks,  —  it  must  have  been  common  indeed  : 

•  Semiustamque  facem  vigilata  nocte  viator 
Ponet;  et  ad  solitum  rusticus  ibit  opua.' 

This  occurs  in  the  Fasti ;  —  elsewhere  he  notices  it  for  its 
danger : 

'  Ut  ftusibus  sepes  ardent,  cum  forte  viator 
Vel  nimis  admovit,  vel  jam  sub  luce  reliquit.' 

He,  however,  we  sec,  good-naturedly  ascribes  the  danger  to  mere 
carelessness,  in  bringing  the  torch  too  near  to  the  hedge,  or  tossing 
it  away  at  daybreak.  But  Varro,  a  more  matter-of-fixct  observer, 
•oes  not  disguise  the  plain  truth,  that  these  disasters  were  often 
he  product  of  pure  malicious  frolic.  For  instance,  in  recom- 
taending  a  certain  kind  of  quickset  fence,  he  insists  upon  it,  ai 
•ne  of  its  advantages,  that  it  will  not  readily  ignite  under  tb« 


596 


NOTES. 


torch  of  the  mischievous  wayfarer;  •  Naturale  seplmentum,  says 
Iw,  'quod  obseri  solet  virgultis  aut  spinis,  prcEtereuntis  lascivi 
non  metuet  facem'  It  is  not  easy  to  see  the  origin  or  advantaga 
of  this  practice  of  nocturnal  travelling  (which  must  have  consid- 
erably increased  the  hazards  of  a  journey),  excepting  only  in  the 
heats  of  summer.  It  is  probable,  however,  that  men  of  high 
rank  and  public  station  may  have  introduced  the  practice  by  way 
of  releasing  corporate  bodies  in  large  towns  from  the  burdensome 
ceremonies  of  public  receptions ;  thus  making  a  compromise 
between  their  own  dignity  and  the  convenience  of  the  provincial 
public.  Once  introduced,  and  the  arrangements  upon  the  road 
for  meeting  the  wants  of  travellers  once  adapted  to  such  a  prac- 
tice, it  would  easily  become  universal.  It  is,  however,  very  pos- 
Bible  that  mere  horror  of  the  heats  of  day-time  may  have  been  the 
original  ground  for  it.  The  ancients  appear  to  have  shrunk  from 
no  hardship  so  trying  and  insutferable  as  that  of  heat.  And  in 
relation  to  that  subject,  it  is  interesting  to  observe  the  way  in 
which  the  ordinary  use  of  language  has  accommodated  itself  to 
that  feeling.  Our  northern  way  of  expressing  effeminacy  is  de- 
rived chiefly  from  the  hardships  of  cold.  He  that  shrinks  from 
the  trials  and  rough  experience  of  real  life  in  any  department,  is 
described  by  the  contemptuous  prefix  of  chimney-corner,  as  if 
shrinking  from  the  cold  which  he  would  meet  on  coming  out  into 
the  open  air  amongst  his  fellow-men.  Thus,  a  chimney-corner 
politician,  for  a  mere  speculator  or  unpractical  dreamer.  But 
the  very  same  indolent  habit  of  aerial  speculation,  which  courts 
no  test  of  real  life  and  practice,  is  described  by  the  ancients  under 
the  term  umbracticus,  or  seeking  the  cool  shade,  and  shrinking 
from  the  heat.  Thus,  an  umbracticus  doctor  is  one  who  has  no 
practical  solidity  in  his  teaching.  The  fatigue  and  hardship  of 
real  life,  in  short,  is  represented  by  the  ancients  under  the  uni- 
form image  of  heat,  and  by  the  moderns  under  that  of  cold. 

Note  9.  Page  41. 
According  to  Suetonius,  the  circumstances  of  this  memorable 
night  were  as  follows  :  —  As  soon  as  the  decisive  intelligence  was 
received,  that  the  intrigues  of  his  enemies  had  prevailed  at  Rome 
and  that  the  interposition  of  the  popular  magistrates  (the  trib- 
•nes)  was  set  aside,  Csesai  sent  forward  the  troops,  who  wert 


W0TK3.  597 

Aen  at  his  head-quarters,  but  in  as  private  a  manner  es  possible. 
fle  himself,  by  way  of  masque  {per  dissimulaiionem) ,  attended 
%  public  spectacle,  gave  an  audience  to  an  architect  who  wrished 
to  lay  before  him  a  plan  for  a  school  of  gladiators  which  C«Bsar 
designed  to  build,  and  finally  presented  himself  at  a  banquet, 
which  was  very  numerously  attended.  From  this,  about  sunset, 
he  set  forward  in  a  carriage,  drawn  by  mules,  and  with  a  small 
escort  (modico  comitatu).  Losing  his  road,  which  was  the  most 
private  he  could  find  {occulttssimu7n),  he  quitted  his  carriage 
and  proceeded  on  foot.  At  dawn  he  met  with  a  guide;  after 
which  followed  the  above  incidents. 

Note  10.  Page  51. 
Middleton's  Life  of  Cicero,  which  still  continues  to  be  the  most 
readable  digest  of  these  aifairs,  is  feeble  and  contradictory.  He 
discovers  that  Caesar  was  no  general  !  And  the  single  merit 
which  his  work  was  supposed  to  possess,  viz.  the  better  and  more 
critical  arrangement  of  Cicero's  Letters,  in  respect  to  their 
chronology,  has  of  late  years  been  detected  as  a  robbery  from  the 
celebrated  Bellenden,  of  James  the  First's  time. 

Note  11.  Page  65. 
Suetonius,  speaking  of  this  conspiracy,  says,  that  Cwsar  waa 
nominatos  inter  socios  Catilinee,  which  has  been  erroneously 
understood  to  mean  that  he  was  talked  of  as  an  accomplice;  but 
in  fact,  as  Casaubon  first  pointed  out,  nominatus  is  a  technical 
term  of  the  Roman  jurisprudence,  and  means  that  he  was  fcr^ 
vally  denounced. 

Note  12.    Page  59. 

''  Tall: "  —  Whereas,  to  show  the  lawless  caprices  upon  which 
French  writers  have  endeavoured  to  found  a  brief  notoriety, 
>me  contributor  to  the  memoirs  of  L'Acad€mie  des  Inscriptions, 
expressly  asserts,  without  a  vestige  of  countenance  from  any 
authority  whatsoever,  that  Caesar  was  "  several  feet  high,"  but 
being  "  invited "  to  circumstantiate,  replied,  "  five  feet  noth- 
uig;"  but  this  being  French  measure,  would  give  him  (if  we 
ri},-htly  remember  the  French  scale),  about  five  times  three- 
fourths  of  an  inch  morft.  Nonsense.  Suetonius,  who  stood  so 
aear  to  the  Julian  fjrt'ncration,  i.s  L-uurantee  for  hia  proceritas. 


B98 


NOTES. 


Note  13.  Page  64 
Caesar  had  the  merit  of  being  the  first  person  to  propose  thi 
daily  pul)lication  of  the  acts  and  votes  of  the  senate.  In  the  form 
of  public  and  official  despatches,  he  made  also  some  useful  innova- 
tions; and  it  may  be  mentioned,  for  the  curiosity  of  the  incident, 
that  the  cipher  which  he  used  in  his  correspondence,  v?as  the 
fbllovring  very  simple  one  :  —  For  every  letter  of  the  alphabet  h« 
iubstituted  that  which  stood  fourth  removed  from  it  in  the  order 
pf  suocession.    Thus,  for  A,  he  used  D;  for  D.  G.  and  so  on. 

Note  14.    Page  67. 

"  The  son:"  —  This  is  a  fact  which  we  should  do  well  to  re- 
member more  seriously  tlian  we  have  ever  done  in  the  cases  of 
Indian  princes  claiming  under  tliis  title.  The  miscreant  Nana 
Sahib  to  all  appearance  was  really  ill-used  originally  by  us.  was 
he  not  really  and  truly  the  child  by  adoption  of  the  Peishwah  1 
Let  us  recollect  that  one  of  the  Scipios,  received  for  such  by  the 
whole  Roman  world,  was  really  an  Emilian,  and  a  Scipio  only 
by  adoption. 

Note  15.    Page  80. 
*  The  painful  warrior,  famoused  for  figlit. 
After  a  thousand  victories  once  foil'd. 
Is  from  the  book  of  honor  razed  quite. 

And  all  the  rest  forgot  for  which  he  toil'd.' 

Shakspeare'$  SonneU 

Note  16.  Page  86. 
And  this  was  entirely  by  the  female  side.  The  family  descent 
Ol  the  first  six  Caesars  is  so  intricate,  that  it  is  rarely  understood 
accurately;  so  that  it  may  be  well  to  state  it  briefly.  Augustus 
was  grand  nephew  to  Julius  Caesar,  being  the  son  of  his  sister's 
daughter.  He  was  also,  by  adoption,  the  son  of  Julius.  He 
himself  had  one  child  only,  viz.  the  infamous  Julia,  who  was 
brought  him  by  his  second  wife  Scribonia;  and  through  this  Julia 
ft  was  that  the  three  princes,  who  succeeded  to  Tiberius,  claimed 
relationship  to  Augustus.  On  that  emperor's  last  marriage  witk 
{iivia,  he  adopted  the  two  sous  whom  she  had  borne  to  her  di» 


NOTES. 


599 


forced  husband.  These  two  noblemen,  who  stood  in  no  degree 
if  consanguinity  whatever  to  Augustus,  were  Tiberius  and  Drusus. 
riberius  left  no  children;  but  Drusus,  the  younger  of  the  two 
brothers,  by  his  marriage  with  the  younger  Autonia  (daughter 
of  Mark  Anthony) ,  had  the  celebrated  Germanicus,  and  Claudius 
(afterwards  emperor).  (Jermanicus,  though  adopted  by  hia 
uncle  Tiberius,  and  destined  to  the  empire,  died  prematurely. 
But,  like  Banquo,  though  he  wore  no  crown,  he  left  descendants 
who  did.  For,  by  his  marriage  with  Agrippina,  a  daughter  of 
Julia's  by  Agrippa  (and  therefore  grand-daughter  of  Augustus), 
he  had  a  large  family,  of  whom  one  son  became  the  Emperor 
Caligula;  and  one  of  the  daughters,  Agrippina  the  younger,  by 
her  marriage  with  a  Roman  nobleman,  became  the  mother  of  the 
Emperor  Nero.  Hence  it  appears  that  Tiberius  was  uncle  to 
Claudius,  Claudius  was  uncle  to  Caligula,  Caligula  was  uncle  to 
Nero.  But  it  is  observable,  that  Nero  and  Caligula  stood  in 
another  degree  of  consanguinity  to  each  other  through  their 
grandmothers,  who  were  both  daughters  of  Mark  Anthony  the 
triumvir;  for  the  elder  Antonia  married  the  grandfather  of  Nero; 
the  younger  Antonia  (as  we  have  stated  above)  married  Drusus, 
the  grandfather  of  Caligula;  and  again,  by  these  two  ladies,  they 
were  connected  not  only  with  each  other,  but  also  with  the  Julian 
house,  for  the  two  Antonias  were  daughters  of  Mark  Anthony  by 
Octavia,  sister  to  Augustus. 

Note  17.    Page  96. 
But  a  memorial  stone,  in  its  inscription,  makes  the  time  longer 
•  Quando  urbs  per  novem  dies  arsit  Neronianis  temporibus.' 

Note  18.  Page  106. 
At  this  early  hour,  witnesses,  sureties,  &c.,  and  all  concerned 
in  the  law  courts,  came  up  to  Rome  from  villas,  country  towns, 
Vc.  But  no  ordinary  call  existed  to  summon  travellers  in  tha 
apposite  direction;  which  accounts  for  the  comment  of  the  traT* 
ellers  on  the  errand  of  Nero  and  his  attendants. 

Note  19.     Page  113. 
^e  may  add  that  the  unexampled  public  grief  which  followed 
the  death  of  Otho,  exceeding  even  that  which  followed  the  death 


600  NOTES. 

of  Gennanicus,  and  causing  several  officers  to  commit  suicide, 
implies  some  remarkable  goodness  in  this  Prince,  and  a  very 
unusual  power  of  conciliating  attachment. 

Note  20.  Page  117. 
Blackwell,  in  his  Court  of  Augustus,  vol.  i.  p.  882,  when  no- 
ticing these  lines,  upon  occasion  of  the  murder  of  Cicero,  in  th« 
final  proscription  under  the  last  triumvirate,  comments  thus : 
•  Those  of  the  greatest  and  truly  Roman  spirit  had  been  murdered 
in  the  field  by  Julius  Caesar  :  the  rest  were  now  massacred  in  the 
city  by  his  son  and  successors;  in  their  room  came  Syrians,  Cap- 
padocians,  Phrygians,  and  other  enfranchised  slaves  from  the 
conquered  nations ; '  —  '  these  in  half  a  century  had  sunk  so  low, 
that  Tiberius  pronounced  her  very  senators  to  be  homines  ad 
itervitutem  naios,  men  born  to  be  slaves.' 

NoTK  21.  Page  117. 
Suetonius  indeed  pretends  that  Augustus,  personally  at  least, 
struggled  against  this  ruinous  practice  —  thinking  it  a  matter  of 
the  highest  moment,  •  Sincerum  atque  ab  onmi  colluvione  pere- 
grini  et  servilis  sanguinis  incorruptum  servare  populum.'  And 
Horace  is  ready  with  his  flatteries  on  the  same  topic,  lib.  3,  Od.  6. 
But  the  facts  are  against  them;  for  the  question  is  not  what 
Augustus  did  in  his  own  person,  (which  at  most  could  not  operate 
very  widely  except  by  the  example,)  but  what  he  permitted 
to  be  done.  Now  there  was  a  practice  familiar  to  those  times ' 
that  when  a  congiary  or  any  other  popular  liberahty  was  an- 
nounced, multitudes  were  enfranchised  by  avaricious  masters  in 
order  to  make  them  capable  of  the  bounty  (as  citizens),  and  yet 
under  the  condition  of  transferring  to  their  emancipators  what- 
soever they  should  receive;  Iru  tor  dii^iooiwg  didu^isyof  airov  Xufi- 
SurovTiQ  xuTa  fttiva — ijfijwai  roig  dtdvjxaai  Ttjv  i?.ev6fQiav,  saya 
Dionysius  of  Halicarnassus,  in  order  that  after  receiving  the  corn 
given  publicly  in  every  month,  they  might  carry  it  to  those  who 
bad  bestowed  upon  them  their  freedom.  In  a  case,  then,  where 
an  extensive  practice  of  this  kind  was  exposed  to  Augustus,  and 
■ublicly  reproved  by  him,  how  did  he  proceed  ?  Did  he  reject 
the  new-made  citizens  ?  No;  he  contented  himself  with  diminish- 
ing the  proportion  originally  destined,  for  each,  so  that  the  sam« 


NOTES.  601 

kbsolule  sum  being  distributed  among  a  number  increased  by  the 
(rhole  amount  of  the  new  enrolments,  of  necessity  the  relative 
sum  for  each  separately  was  so  much  kss.  But  this  was  a  rem- 
edy applied  only  to  the  pecuniary  fraud  as  it  would  have  affected 
himself.     The  permanent  mischief  to  the  state  went  unredressed. 

Note  22.    Page  118. 

Part  of  the  story  is  well  known,  but  not  the  whole.  Tiberias 
Nero,  a  promising  young  nobleman,  had  recently  married  a  very 
splendid  beauty.  Unfortunately  for  him,  at  the  marriage  of 
Octavia  (sister  to  Augustus)  with  Mark  Anthony,  he  allowed  hia 
young  wife,  then  about  eighteen,  to  attend  upon  the  bride.  Au- 
gustus was  deeply  and  suddenly  fascinated  by  her  charms,  and 
without  further  scruple  sent  a  message  to  Nero  —  intimating  that 
he  was  in  love  with  his  wife,  and  would  thank  him  to  resign  her. 
The  other,  thinking  it  vain,  in  those  days  of  lawless  proscription, 
to  contest  a  point  of  this  nature  with  one  who  commanded  twelve 
legions,  obeyed  the  requisition.  Upon  some  motive,  now  un- 
known, he  was  persuaded  even  to  degrade  himself  farther;  for  he 
actually  officiated  at  the  man-iage  in  character  of  father,  and 
gave  away  the  young  beauty  to  his  rival,  although  at  that  time 
eix  months  advanced  in  pregnancy  by  himself.  These  humiliat- 
ing concessions  were  extorted  from  him,  and  yielded  (probably 
at  the  instigation  of  friends)  in  order  to  save  his  life.  In  the 
sequel  they  had  the  very  opposite  result;  for  he  died  soon  after, 
and  it  is  reasonably  supposed  of  grief  and  mortification.  At  the 
marriage  feast,  an  incident  occurred  which  threw  the  whole  com- 
pany into  confusion  :  A  little  boy,  roving  from  couch  to  couch 
among  the  guests,  came  at  length  to  that  in  whicli  Livia  (the 
bride)  was  lying  by  the  side  of  Augustus,  on  which  he  cried  out 
ftloud,  —  •  Lady,  what  are  vou  doing  here  ?  You  are  mistaken  — 
this  is  not  your  husband  —  he  is  theie,'  (pointing  to  Tiberius,) 

go,  go  —  rise,  lady,  and  recline  beside  hijii.' 

Note  23.    Page  121. 

Augustus,  in(lf>^-  strove  to  exclude  the  women  from  one  part 

•r  the  jii<:ension  spectacles;  and  what  was  that  ?     Simply  from 

the  sight  of  the  JiVdeta,  as  being  naked.     But  that  they  should 

witness  the  pangs  of  the  dying  gladiators,  he  deemed  quite  alio  w- 


602  NOTES. 

kble.  The  smooth  barbarian  considered,  that  a  license  of  the 
first  sort  offended  against  decorum,  whilst  the  other  violated  only 
the  sanctities  of  the  human  heart,  and  the  whole  sexual  charactei 
of  women.  It  is  our  opinion,  that  to  the  brutalizing  effect  of 
these  exhibitions  we  are  to  ascribe,  not  only  the  early  extinction 
of  the  Roman  drama,  but  generally  the  inferiority  of  Rome  to 
Greece  in  every  department  of  the  fine  arts.  The  fine  temper  cf 
Boman  sensibility,  which  no  culture  could  have  brought  to  tba 
level  of  the  Grecian,  was  thus  dulled  for  every  application. 

NoTB  24.  Page  130. 
No  fiction  of  romance  presents  so  awful  a  picture  of  the  ideal 
tyrant  as  that  of  Caligula  by  Suetonius.  His  palace  —  radiant 
with  purple  and  gold,  but  murder  everywhere  lurking  beneath 
flowers;  his  smiles  and  echoing  laughter — masking  (yet  hardly 
meant  to  mask)  his  foul  treachery  of  heart;  his  hideous  and  tu- 
multuous dreams  —  his  baffled  sleep  —  and  his  sleepless  nights  — 
compose  the  picture  of  an  ^schylus.  What  a  master's  sketch 
lies  in  these  few  lines:  'Incitabatur  insomnio  maxime;  neque 
enim  plus  tribus  horis  nocturnis  quiescebat;  ac  ne  his  placida 
quiete,  at  pavida  miris  rerum  imaginibus;  ut  qui  inter  ceteras 
pelagi  quondam  speciem  coUoquentem  secnm  videre  visus  sit. 
Ideoque  magna  parte  noctis,  vigilae  cubandique  taedio,  nunc  tore 
residens,  nunc  per  longissimas  portions  vagus,  invocare  identi- 
dem  atque  exspectare  lucem  consueverat : '  —  i.  e.  '  But,  above 
all,  he  was  tormented  with  nervous  irritation,  by  sleeplessness  ; 
for  he  enjoyed  not  more  than  three  hours  of  nocturnal  repose  ; 
nor  these  even  in  pure  untroubled  rest,  but  agitated  by  phantas- 
mata  of  portentous  augury;  as,  for  example,  upon  one  occasion 
he  fancied  that  he  saw  the  sea,  under  some  definite  impersona- 
tion, conversing  with  himself.  Hence  it  was,  and  from  this  in- 
eapacity  of  sleeping,  and  from  weariness  of  lying  awake,  that  he 
had  fallen  into  habits  of  ranging  all  the  night  long  through  the 
palace,  sometimes  throwing  himself  on  a  couch,  sometimes  wan* 
daring  along  the  vast  corridors,  watching  for  the  earliest  dawiv 
vad  anxiously  invoking  its  approach. 


irOT£8. 


Note  25.    Page  131. 

"The  Jive  Ccesars:"  —  Namely,  Nerva,  Trajan,  Hadriau,  and 
ihe  two  Antonines,  Pius,  and  his  adopted  son,  Marcus  Aurelius. 

Note  26.    Page  132 
And  hence  we  may  the  better  estimate  the  trial  to  a  Roman*! 
feelings  in  the  personal  deformity  of  baldness,  connected  with  the 
Boman  theory  of  its  cause,  for  the  exposure  of  it  was  perpetuaL 

Note  27.    Page  133. 

•  Expeditiones  sub  eo,'  says  Spartian,  '  graves  nuUae  fuerunt. 
BeUa  etiam  silentio  pene  transacta.'  But  he  does  not  the  lesa 
add,  '  A  militibus,  propter  curam  exercitus  nimiam,  multum 
amatus  est.' 

Note  28.  Page  134. 
In  the  true  spirit  of  Parisian  mummery,  Bonaparte  caused 
letters  to  be  written  from  the  War-office,  in  his  own  name,  to 
particular  soldiers  of  high  military  reputation  in  every  brigade, 
(whose  private  history  he  had  previously  caused  to  be  investi- 
gated,) alluding  circumstantially  to  the  leading  facts  in  their 
personal  or  family  career ;  a  furlough  accompanied  this  letter, 
and  they  were  requested  to  repair  to  Paris,  where  the  emperor 
anxiously  desired  to  see  them.  Thus  was  the  paternal  interest 
expressed,  which  their  leader  took  in  each  man's  fortunes  and 
ihe  eflect  of  every  such  letter,  it  was  not  dcubted,  would  diffuse 
Itself  through  ten  thousand  other  men. 

Note  29.    Page  135. 

•  War  in  procinct '  —  a  phrase  of  Milton's  in  Paradise  R«. 
piined,  which  strikingly  illustrates  his  love  of  Latin  phraseology; 
•or  unless  to  a  scholar,  previously  acquainted  with  the  Latin 
jihrase  of  in  procinctu,  it  is  so  absolutely  unintelligible  as  t* 
feiterrapt  the  current  of  tlie  feeling. 


304  N0TB8. 

Note  30.    Page  136. 

'  Crypts '  —  these,  which  Spartian,  in  his  life  of  Hadrian, 
denominates  simply  cryptce,  are  the  same  which,  in  the  Roman 
jurispi'udence,  and  in  the  architectural  works  of  the  Bomans, 
yet  surviving,  are  termed  hypogeea  deambulationes,  i.  t.  subter- 
ranean parades.  Vitruvius  treats  of  this  luxurious  class  of 
apartments  in  connection  with  the  Apotheca,  and  other  reposi- 
tories or  store-rooms,  which  were  also  in  many  cases  under- 
ground, (for  the  same  reason  as  our  ice-houses,  wme-cellars,  &c. 
He  (and  from  him  Pliny  and  ApoUonaris  Sidonius)  calls  them 
crypto-porticus  (cloistral  colonnades);  and  Ulpian  calls  them 
refugia  (sanctuaries,  or  places  of  refuge) ;  St.  Ambrose  notices 
them  under  the  name  of  hypogeea  and  umbrosa  penetralia,  as  the 
resorts  of  voluptuaries  :  Luxuriosorum  est,  says  he,  hypogaa 
queerere  —  captantium  frigus  astivum;  and  again  he  speaks  of 
detidiosi  qui  ignava  sub  terris  agant  otia. 

Note  31.     Page '136. 

'  The  topiary  art '  —  so  called,  as  Salmasius  thinks,  from 
TOTiijiov,  a  rope;  because  the  process  of  construction  was  con- 
ducted chiefly  by  means  of  cords  and  strings.  This  art  waa 
much  practised  in  the  17th  century;  and  Casaubon  describes  one, 
which  existed  in  his  early  days  somewhere  in  the  suburbs  of 
Paris,  on  so  elaborate  a  scale,  that  it  represented  Troy  besieged, 
with  the  two  hosts,  their  several  leaders,  and  all  other  objects  in 
their  fall  proportion. 

Note  32.    Page  136. 

" Miss  Linwood : '"  —  Alas!  Fuit  Ilium;  and  it  has  actually 
become  necessary,  in  a  generation  that  knew  not  Joseph,  that 
we  should  tell  the  reader  who  was  Miss  Linwood.  For  many  a 
long  year  between  1800  and  perhaps  1835  or  1840,  she  had  m 
Leicester  Square,  London,  a  most  gorgeous  exhibition  of  needle- 
work—  arras  that  by  its  exquisite  effects  rivalled  the  works  of 
mighty  painters. 

Note  33.    Page  137. 
Very  remarkable  it  is,  and  a  fact  which  speaks  volumes  as  ti 
^  deuwcratio  constitution  of  the  Roman  army,  in  the  midst  ot 


vroiEs.  60 

Jiat  aristocracy  "»hich  enveloped  its  parent  state  in  a  civil  sense, 
that  although  there  was  a  name  for  a  common  soldier  (or  senti- 
net,  as  he  was  termed  by  our  ancestors)  —  viz.  7niles  gregarius, 
or  miles  manipularis  —  there  was  none  for  an  officer  ;  that  is  to 
say,  each  several  rank  of  officers  had  a  name;  but  there  was  no 
generalization  to  express  the  idea  of  an  officer  abstracted  from 
its  several  species  or  classes. 

NoTK  34.  Page  189. 
Vitis:  and  it  deserves  to  be  mentioned,  that  this  staff,  or 
eadgel,  which  was  the  official  engine  and  cognizance  of  the  Cen- 
turion's dignity,  was  meant  expressly  to  be  used  in  caning  or 
cudgelling  the  inferior  soldiers  *  Propterea  vitis  in  mauom 
data,'  says  Salmasius, '  verberando  scilicet  militi  qui  deliquisset.' 
We  are  no  patrons  of  corporal  chastisement,  which,  on  the  con- 
trary, as  the  vUest  of  degradations,  we  abominate.  The  soldier, 
who  does  not  feel  himself  dishonored  by  it,  is  already  dishonored 
beyond  hope  or  redemption.  But  still  let  this  degradation  not 
be  imputed  to  the  English  army  exclusively. 

Note  3.5.    Page  145. 
In  the  original  ter  millies,  which  is  not  much  above  two  mil- 
lions and  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  pounds  sterling;  but 
it  must  be  remembered  that  one  third  as  much,  in  addition  to 
this  popular  largess,  had  been  given  to  the  army. 

Note  36.     Page  145. 

'nam  bene  gesti   rebus,   vel  potius  feliciter,   etsi  non 

summi  —  medii  tamen  obtinuit  ducis  famam.'  For  by  the  able, 
or  rather  by  tiie  fortunate,  couduct  of  affairs,  he  won  the  repu- 
tation—  though  not  of  a  supreme  —  yet  of  a  tolerable  or  sec- 
ond class  strategist. 

Note  37.     Page  146. 

This,  however,  is  a  point  in  which  royal  personages  claim  ao 

•Id  prescriptive  right  \o  be  unreasonable  in  their  exactions  ;  and 

iome,  even  amongst  the  most  humane  of  Christian  princes,  have 

•rred  as  flagrantly  as  JEliaa  Yerus.     George  IV.  we  have  nndcF 


606  NOTES. 

itood,  was  generally  escorted  from  Dalkeith  to  Holyrood  at  % 
rate  of  twenty-two  miles  an  hour.  And  of  his  father,  the  truly 
kind  and  paternal  king,  it  is  recorded  by  Miss  Hawkins,  (daugb* 
ter  of  Sir  J.  Hawkins,  the  biographer  of  Johnson,  &c.)  that 
families  who  happened  to  have  a  son,  brother,  lover,  &c.  in  tht 
particular  regiment  of  cavalry  which  furnished  the  escort  for  the 
day,  used  to  suffer  as  much  anxiety  for  the  result  as  on  the  eve 
of  a  great  battle. 

Note  38.    Page  150. 

"  He  practised  a  mode  of  usury  at  the  very  lowest  rates,  viz., 
under  a  discount  of  two-thirds  from  the  ordinary  terms,  so  as 
that,  from  his  own  private  patrimonial  funds,  he  might  thus 
relieve  the  greatest  number  possible  of  clients." 

NoTB  39.  Page  154. 
And  not  impossibly  of  America  ;  for  it  must  be  remembered 
that,  when  we  speak  of  this  quarter  of  the  earth  as  yet  undiscov- 
ered, we  mean  —  to  ourselves  of  the  western  climates ;  since  aa 
respects  the  eastern  quarters  of  Asia,  doubtless  America  waa 
known  there  familiarly  enough;  and  the  high  bounties  of  imperial 
Borne  on  rare  animals,  would  sometimes  perhaps  propagate  their 
influence  even  to  those  regions. 

Note  40.    Page  156. 
In  default  of  whalebone,  one  is  curious  to  know  of  what  they 
were  made  :  —  thin  tablets  of  the  linden-tree,  it  appears,  were 
the  best  materials  which  the  Augustus  of  that  day  could  com- 
mand. 

Note  41.  Page  156. 
There  is,  however,  a  good  deal  of  delusion  prevalent  on  such 
subjects.  In  some  English  cavalry  regiments,  the  custom  is  for 
the  privates  to  take  only  one  meal  a  day,  which  of  course  is  din- 
ner; and  by  some  curious  experiments  it  has  appeared  that  such 
k  mode  of  life  is  the  healthiest.  But  at  the  same  time  we  have 
Iflcertained  that  the  quantity  of  porter  or  substantial  ale  drunk 
in  these  regiments  does  virtually  allow  many  meals,  by  compar 
»on  with  the  washy  tea  breakfasts  of  most  Englishmen. 


K0TE8.  G07 

IHOTB  42.     Page  158. 

We  should  all  have  been  much  indebted  to  the  philosophic 
impeior,  had  he  found  it  convenient  to  tell  us  with  what  result 
to  the  public  interests,  as  also  to  the  despatch  of  bu.sines3.  Na- 
poleon made  La  Place  a  Secretary  of  State,  but  had  reason  to 
rue  his  appointment.  Our  own  Addison  suffered  a  kind  of 
locked  jaw  in  dictating  despatches  as  foreign  Secretary.    And 

about  a  hundred  years  earlier  Lord  Bacon  played  "  H and 

Tommy  "  when  casually  raised  to  the  supreme  seat  in  the  coun- 
cil by  the  brief  absence  in  Edinburgh  of  the  king  and  the  Duke 
of  Buckingham. 

Note  43.    Page  159. 

So  much  improvement  had  Christianity  already  accomplished 
in  the  feelings  of  men  since  the  time  of  Augustus.  That  prince, 
in.  whose  reign  the  Founder  of  this  ennobling  religion  was  born, 
had  delighted  so  much  and  indulged  so  freely  in  the  spectaclos 
of  the  amphitheatre,  that  Maecenas  summoned  him  reproachfully 
to  leave  them,  saying,  '  Surge  tandem,  carnifex.' 

It  is  the  remark  of  Capitoline,  that  '  gladiatoria  spectacula 
imnifariam  temperavit;  temperavit  etiam  scenicas  donationes  ; ' 
—  he  controlled  in  every  possible  way  the  gladiatorial  specta- 
cles ;  he  controlled  also  the  rates  of  allowance  to  the  stage  per- 
formers. In  these  latter  reforms,  which  simply  restrained  the 
exorbitant  salaries  of  a  class  dedicated  to  the  public  pleasures, 
and  unprofitable  to  the  State,  Marcus  may  have  had  no  farther 
view  than  that  which  is  usually  connected  with  sumptuary  laws. 
But  in  the  restraints  upon  the  gladiators,  it  is  impossible  to 
believe  that  his  highest  purpose  was  not  that  of  elevating  human 
nature,  and  preparing  the  way  for  still  higher  regulations.  As 
little  can  it  be  believed  that  this  lofty  conception,  and  the  sense 
»f  a  degradation  entailed  upon  human  nature  itself,  in  the  spec- 
tacle of  human  beings  matched  against  each  other  like  brut« 
beasts,  and  pouring  out  their  blood  upon  the  arena  as  a  libation 
o  the  caprices  of  a  mob,  could  have  been  derived  from  any  other 
«oarce  than  the  contagion  of  Christian  standards  and  Christian 
lentiments,  then  beginning  to  pervade  and  ventilate  tht 
ktmosphere  of  society  is    Its  higher  and  philosophic  regions 


608  woTw. 

Christianity,  without  expressly  affirming,  everywhere  indirectly 
supposes  and  presumes  the  infinite  value  and  dignity  of  man  as  a 
creature,  exclusively  concerned  in  a  vast  and  mysterious  economy 
of  restoi'ation  to  a  state  of  moral  beauty  and  power  in  some 
former  age  mysteriously  forfeited.  Equally  interested  in  its  ben- 
efits, joint  heirs  of  its  promises,  all  men,  of  every  color,  language, 
and  rank,  Gentile  or  Jew,  were  here  first  represented  as  in  one 
sense  (and  that  the  most  important)  equal;  in  the  eye  of  thi« 
religion,  they  were,  by  necessity  of  logic,  equal,  as  equal  partioi- 
pators  in  the  ruin  and  the  restoration.  Here  first,  in  any  avail- 
able sense,  was  communicated  to  the  standard  of  human  nature 
a  vast  and  sudden  elevation;  and  reasonable  enough  it  is  to 
suppose,  that  soine  obscure  sense  of  this,  some  sympathy  with  the 
great  changes  for  man  then  beginning  to  operate,  would  first  of 
all  reach  the  inquisitive  students  of  philosophy,  and  chiefly  those 
in  high  stations,  who  cultivated  an  intercourse  with  all  the  men 
of  original  genius  throughout  the  civilized  world.  The  Emperor 
Hadrian  had  already  taken  a  solitary  step  in  the  improvemeilt 
of  human  nature,  and  not,  we  may  believe,  without  some  sntv 
conscious  influence  received  directly  or  indirectly  from  Christian- 
ity. So  again,  with  respect  to  Marcus,  it  is  hardly  conceivable 
that  he,  a  prince  so  indulgent  and  popular,  could  have  thwarted, 
and  violently  gainsaid,  a  primary  impulse  of  the  Roman  populace, 
without  some  adequate  motive;  and  none  could  be  adequate 
which  was  not  built  upon  some  new  and  exalted  views  of  human 
nature,  with  which  these  gladiatorial  sacrifices  were  altogether 
at  war.  The  reforms  which  Marcus  introduced  into  these  *  cru- 
delissima  spectacula,'  all  having  the  common  purpose  of  limiting 
their  extent,  were  three.  First,  he  set  bounds  to  the  extreme 
cost  of  these  exhibitions;  and  this  restriction  of  the  cost  covertly 
operated  as  a  restriction  of  the  practice.  Secondly,  —  and  this 
ordinance  took  eflect  whenever  he  was  personally  present,  if  not 
Bftener,  —  he  commanded,  on  great  occasions,  that  these  displays 
should  be  bloodless.  Dion  Cassius  notices  this  fact  in  the  fol- 
lowing words  :  — '  The  Emperor  Marcus  was  so  far  from  taking 
delight  in  spectacles  of  bloodshed,  that  even  the  gladiators  in 
Rome  could  not  obtain  his  inspection  of  their  contests,  unless 
like  the  wrestlers,  they  contended  without  imminent  risk;  for  h« 
fcever  allowed  them  the  use  of  sharpened  weapons,  but  univei: 


NOTES.  609 

sally  they  fought  befoie  him  with  weapons  previously  blunted.' 
Thirdly,  he  repealed  the  old  and  uniform  regulation,  which 
secured  to  tne  gladiators  a  perpetual  immunity  from  military 
service.  This  necessarily  diminished  theii*  available  amount. 
Being  now  liable  to  serve  their  country  usefully  in  the  field  of 
battle,  whilst  the  concurrent  limitation  of  the  expenses  in  thia 
direction  prevented  any  proportionate  increase  of  their  numbers, 
they  were  so  much  the  less  disposable  in  aid  of  the  public  luxury. 
His  fatherly  care  of  all  classes,  and  the  universal  benignity  with 
which  he  attempted  to  raise  the  abject  estimate  and  condition  of 
even  tlie  lowest  Pariahs  in  his  vast  empire,  appears  in  another 
little  anecdote,  relating  to  a  class  of  men  equally  with  the  gladia- 
tora  given  up  to  the  service  of  luxvxy  in  a  haughty  and  cruel 
populace.  Attending  one  day  at  ar  exhibition  of  rope-dancing, 
one  of  the  performers  (a  boy)  fell  and  hurt  himself ;  from  which 
time  the  paternal  emperor  would  never  allow  the  rope-dancers  to 
perform  without  mattresses  or  feather-beds  spread  below,  tc 
mitigate  the  violence  of  their  falls. 

Note  44.     Page  160 
Marcus  had  been  associated,  as  Caesar,  and  as  emperor,  witij 
the  son  of  the  late  beautiful  Verus,  who  is  usually  mentioned  by 
the  same  name 

Note  45.    Page  161. 

"Bif  color:"  —  It  must  be  remembered  that  the  true  purple 
(about  which  the  controversy  has  been  endless,  and  is  yet  un- 
settled —  possibly  it  was  our  cmiison,  though  this  seems  properly 
expressed  by  the  word  punictus ;  possibly  it  was  our  cotnnion 
violet ;  but  of  whatever  tint,  this  color  of  purple)  was  iiUL'rdicted 
to  the  Konian  people,  and  consecrated  to  the  sole  personal  use 
of  tiie  iniperatorial  liouse.  Uncollecting  the  early  "taboo"  iu 
this  point  aniouc^st  the  children  of  Komulus,  and  that  thus  far  it 
nad  not  been  suspended  under  the  two  gentlest  and  most  philo- 
sophic princes  uf  tne  divina  doiiius,  we  feel  that  some  injustic* 
Bas,  jjerhaps,  been  done  to  Diocletian  in  representing  him  as  th» 
Importer  of  Oriental  degradations. 
39 


GIO 


NOTES. 


Note  46.     Page  162 

"  Murrhine  vases :  "  —  What  might  these  Pagan  articles  oe 
Unlearned  reader,  if  any  such  is  amongst  the  flock  of  our  au 
dience,  the  question  you  sisk  has  been  asked  by  four  or  five  cen 
furies  that  have  fleeted  away,  and  hitherto  has  had  no  answer 
They  were  not  porcelain  from  China  ;  they  could  not  be  Vene- 
tian glass,  into  which,  when  poison  was  poured,  suddenly  the 
venom  fermented,  bubbled,  boiled,  and  finally  shivered  the  giass 
into  fragments  (so  at  least  saith  the  pretty  fable  of  our  ances- 
tors) ;  this  it  could  not  be  :  why  1  Because  Venice  herself  did 
not  arise  until  two  and  a  half  centuries  after  Marcus  Aurelius. 
They  were  however  like  diaphanous  china,  but  did  not  break  on 
falling.  The  Japanese  still  possess  a  sort  of  porcelain  much 
superior  to  any  now  produced  in  China.  And  by  Chinese  con- 
fession, a  far  superior  order  of  porcelain  was  long  ago  manufac- 
tured in  China  itself,  of  which  the  art  is  now  wholly  lost.  Per- 
haps the  murrhine  vase  might  belong  to  this  forgotten  class  of 
vertu. 

Note  47.  Page  163. 
Because  the  most  effectual  extinguishers  of  all  ambition  applied 
in  that  direction;  since  the  very  excellence  of  any  particular 
&bric  was  the  surest  pledge  of  its  virtual  suppression  by  means 
of  its  legal  restriction  (which  followed  inevitably)  to  the  use  of 
the  imperial  house. 

Note  48.  Page  165. 
Upon  which  some  mimographus  built  an  occasional  notice  of 
the  scandal  then  floating  on  the  public  breath  in  the  following 
terms  :  One  of  the  actors  having  asked  '  Who  was  the  adulterou* 
paramour  ? '  receives  for  answer,  Tullus.  Who  ?  he  asks 
»gain  ;  and  again  for  three  times  running  he  is  answered, 
7\tllus.  But  asking  a  fourth  time,  the  rejoinder  is.  Jam  dixi 
ler  Tullus. 

NoTB  49.    Page  166. 
In  reality,  if  by  divus  and  divine  honors  we  understand  a  eaint 
:>r  spiritualiied  being  having  a  right  of  intercession  with  the  So. 


K0TE8.  611 

preme  Deity,  and  by  hia  temple,  &c.,  if  we  understand  a  shrine 
attended  by  a  priest  to  direct  the  prayers  of  his  devotees,  there 
is  no  such  wide  chasm  between  this  pagan  superstition  and  the 
adoration  of  saints  in  the  Romish  church,  as  at  first  sight  ap- 
pears. The  fault  is  purely  in  the  names  :  divus  and  templum  are 
words  too  undistinguishing  and  generic. 

Note  50.  Page  168. 
Not  long  after  this  Alexander  Severus  meditated  a  temple  to 
Christ;  upon  which  design  Lampridius  observes,  —  Quod  et 
Hadrianus  cogitasse  fertur  ;  and,  as  Lampridius  was  himself  a 
pagan,  we  believe  him  to  have  been  right  in  his  report,  in  spite 
of  all  which  has  been  written  by  Casaubon  and  others,  who 
maintain  that  these  imperfect  temples  of  Hadrian  were  left  void 
of  all  images  or  idols,  —  not  in  respect  to  the  Christian  practice, 
but  because  he  designed  them  eventually  to  be  dedicated  to  him- 
self. However,  be  this  as  it  may,  thus  much  appears  on  the  face 
of  the  story,  —  that  Christ  and  Christianity  had  by  that  time 
begun  to  challenge  the  imperial  attention ;  and  of  this  there  is 
an  indirect  indication,  as  it  has  been  interpreted,  even  in  the 
memoir  of  Marcus  himself.  The  passage  is  this  :  '  Fama  fuit 
sane  quod  sub  philosophorum  specie  quidam  rempublicam  vexa- 
rent  et  privates.'  The  philosophi,  here  mentioned  by  Capitoline, 
ire  by  some  supposed  to  be  the  Christians ;  and  for  many  reasons 
e  believe  it;  and  we  understand  the  molestations  of  the  public 
•ervices  and  of  private  individuals,  here  charged  upon  them,  a» 
a  very  natural  reference  to  the  Christian  doctrines  felsely  under- 
stood. There  is,  by  the  way,  a  fine  remark  upon  Christianity, 
made  by  an  infidel  philosopher  of  Germany,  which  suggests  a 
remarkable  feature  in  the  merits  of  Marcus  Aurelius.  There 
were,  as  this  German  philospher  used  to  observe,  two  schemes 
of  thinking  amongst  the  ancients,  which  severally  fulfilled  the 
two  functions  of  a  sound  philosophy  as  respected  the  moral  nature 
of  man.  One  of  these  schemes  presented  us  with  a  just  ideal  of 
(Qoral  excellence,  a  standard  sufficiently  exalted  ;  this  was  the 
Btoic  philosophy;  and  thus  far  its  pretensions  were  unexception- 
kble  and  perfect.  But  unfortunately,  whilst  contemplating  thL> 
pure  ideal  of  man  as  he  ought  to  be ,  the  Stoic  totally  forgot  the 
IrtuI  nature  of  man  as  he  is ;  and  by  refusing  all  compromised 


i  NOTKa 

and  all  condescensions  to  human  infirmity,  this  philosophy  of  th« 
Porch  presented  to  us  a  brilliant  prize  and  object  for  our  efforts, 
but  placed  on  an  inaccessible  height. 

On  the  other  hand,  there  was  a  very  different  philosophj  at 
the  very  antagonist  pole,  —  not  blinding  itself  by  abstractions  too 
elevated,  submitting  to  what  it  finds,  bending  to  the  absolute 
facts  and  realities  of  man's  nature,  and  affably  adapting  itself  to 
human  imperfections.  There  was  the  philosophy  of  Epicurus  ; 
and  undoubtedly,  as  a  beginning,  and  for  the  elementary  pur- 
pose of  conciliating  the  affections  of  the  pupil,  it  was  well  devised; 
but  here  the  misfortune  was,  that  the  ideal,  or  maximum  pet' 
fectionis,  attainable  by  human  nature,  was  pitched  so  low,  that 
the  humility  of  its  condescensions  and  the  excellence  of  its  means 
were  all  to  no  pui-pose,  as  leading  to  nothing  further  One 
mode  presented  a  splendid  end,  but  insulated,  and  with  no  meana 
fitted  to  a  human  aspirant  for  communicating  with  its  splendors; 
the  other,  an  excellent  road,  but  leading  to  no  worthy  or  propoi- 
tionate  end.  Yet  these,  as  regarded  morals,  were  the  best  and 
ultimate  achievements  of  the  pagan  world.  Now  Christianity, 
said  he,  is  the  synthesis  of  whatever  is  separately  excellent  in 
either.  It  will  abate  as  little  as  the  haughtiest  Stoicism  of  the 
ideal  which  it  contemplates  as  the  first  postulate  of  true  moral- 
ity; the  absolute  holiness  and  purity  which  it  demands  are  as 
much  raised  above  the  poor  performances  of  actual  man,  as  the 
absolute  wisdom  and  impeccability  of  the  Stoic.  Yet,  unlike  the 
Stoic  scheme,  Christianity  is  aware  of  the  necessity,  and  provides 
for  it,  that  the  means  of  appropriating  this  ideal  perfection 
should  be  sueh  as  are  consistent  with  the  nature  of  a  most  erring 
and  imperfect  creature.  Its  motion  is  towards  the  divine,  but 
by  and  through  the  human.  In  fact,  it  oflers  the  Stoic  human- 
ized in  his  scheme  of  means,  and  the  Epicurean  exalted  in  his 
final  objects.  Nor  is  it  possible  to  conceive  a  practicable  scheme 
if  morals  which  should  not  rest  upon  such  a  synthesis  of  the  two 
elements  as  the  Christian  scheme  presents;  nor  any  other  mode 
of  fulfilling  that  demand  than  such  a  one  as  is  there  first  brought 
forward,  viz.,  a  double  or  Janus  nature,  which  stands  in  an 
equivocal  relation,  —  to  the  divine  nature  by  his  actual  perfec- 
tions, to  the  human  nature  by  his  participation  in  the  same 
animal  frailties  and  capacities  of  fleshly  temptation.     No  otheJ 


VOTES.  613 

rinoalum  could  bind  the  two  postulates  together,  of  an  absoluM 
perfection  in  the  end  proposed,  and  yet  of  utter  imperfection  in 
the  means  for  attaining  it. 

Such  was  the  outline  of  this  famous  tribute  by  an  unbelieving 
philosopher  to  the  merits  of  Christianity  as  a  scheme  of  moral 
discipline.  Now,  it  must  be  remembered  that  Marcus  Aureliua 
was  by  profession  a  Stoic ;  and  that  generally,  as  a  theoretical 
philosopher,  but  still  more  as  a  Stoic  philosopher,  he  might  be 
■apposed  incapable  of  descending  from  these  airy  altitudes  of 
speculation  to  the  true  needs,  infirmities,  and  capacities  of  hu- 
man nature.  Yet  strange  it  is,  that  he,  of  all  the  good  emperors, 
was  the  most  thoroughly  human  and  practical.  In  evidence  of 
which,  one  body  of  records  is  amply  sufficient,  which  is,  the  very 
extensive  and  wise  reforms  which  he,  beyond  all  the  Cassara 
executed  in  the  existing  laws.  To  all  the  exigencies  of  the  times, 
and  to  all  the  new  necessities  developed  by  the  prog/ess  of 
society,  he  adjusted  the  old  laws,  or  supplied  new  ones.  The 
same  praise,  therefore,  belongs  to  him,  which  the  German  phi- 
losopher conceded  to  Christianity,  of  reconciling  the  austereet 
ideal  with  the  practical;  and  honce  another  argument  for  prfr. 
laming  him  half  baptized  into  the  new  faith. 

Note  51.     Page  170. 

"  Elogiis :  "  —  The  elogium  was  the  public  record  or  titulus  of 
a  malefactor's  crime  inscribed  upon  his  cross  or  scaffold. 

Note  52.     Page  175. 

"Turning  against  every  one  of  his  assassins:"  —  It  was  a 
general  belief  at  the  time  that  each  individual  among  the  mur- 
derers of  Csesar  had  died  by  his  own  sword. 

Note  53.     Pago  176. 

In  these  words  we  hear  the  very  spirit  of  Robespierre. 

Note  54.     Page  177. 

"  Parcerent :  "  —  She  means  pepTcis-^ent.  "  Don't,"  she  says, 
"show  mercy  to  man  that  showed  none  to  you,  nor  would  have 
ihown  any  to  me  or  my  sous  in  case  thev  nad  gained  the  victory.' 


614  NOTES. 

Note  55.  Page  182. 
Amongst  these  institutions,  none  appear  to  us  so  remarkable^ 
;r  fitted  to  accomplish  so  prodigious  a  circle  of  purposes  belong, 
lag  to  the  highest  state  policy,  as  the  Roman  method  of  coloniza- 
tion. Colonies  were,  in  effect,  the  great  engine  of  Roman  con- 
quest; and  the  following  are  among  a  few  of  the  great  ends  to 
which  they  were  applied.  First  of  all,  how  came  it  that  the 
early  armies  of  Rome  served,  and  served  cheerfully,  without 
pay  ?  Simply  because  all  who  were  victorious  knew  that  they 
would  receive  their  arrears  in  the  fullest  and  amplest  form  upon 
their  final  discharge,  viz.,  in  the  shape  of  a  colonial  estate  — 
large  enough  to  rear  a  family  in  comfort,  and  seated  in  the  midst 
of  similar  allotments,  distributed  to  their  old  comrades  in  arms. 
These  lands  were  already,  perhaps,  in  high  cultivation,  being 
often  taken  from  conquered  tribes;  but,  if  not,  the  new  occu- 
pants could  rely  for  aid  of  every  sort,  for  social  intercourse,  and 
for  all  the  offices  of  good  neighborhood  upon  the  surrounding 
proprietors  —  who  were  sure  to  be  persons  in  the  same  circum- 
Btances  as  themselves,  and  draughted  from  the  same  legion. 
For  be  it  remembered,  that  in  the  primitive  ages  of  Rome,  con- 
cerning which  it  is  that  we  are  now  speaking,  entire  legions  — 
privates  and  officers  —  were  transferred  in  one  body  to  the  new 
colony.  '  Antiquitus,'  says  the  learned  Goesius,  '  deducebantur 
int«gr8B  legiones,  quibus  parta  victoria.'  Neither  was  there 
much  waiting  for  this  honorary  gift.  In  later  ages,  it  is  true, 
when  such  resources  were  less  plentiful,  and  when  regular  pay 
was  given  to  the  soldiery,  it  was  the  veteran  only  who  obtained 
this  splendid  provision;  but  in  the  earlier  times,  a  single  fortu- 
nate campaign  not  seldom  dismissed  the  young  recruit  to  a  life 
of  ease  and  honor.  '  Multis  legionibus,'  says  Hyginus,  '  contigit 
bellum  feliciter  transigere,  et  ad  laboriosam  agriculturse  requiem 
prima  tyrocinii  gradu  pu>'venire.  Nam  cum  signis  et  aquila  el 
primis  ordinibus  et  tribunis  deducebantur.'  Tacitus  also  notices 
this  organization  of  the  early  colonies,  and  adds  the  reason  of  it, 
BJid  its  happy  effect,  when  contrasting  it  with  the  vicious  ar- 
Tangements  of  the  colonizing  system  in  his  own  days.  '  Olim,' 
lays  he,  '  universae  legiones  deducebantur  cum  tribunis  et  cea- 
»ui-ionibus,  et  sui  cujusque  ordinis  militibus,  ut  consensu  et 
tharitate   republicam  eficereni.'     Secondly,  not  only  were  th« 


MOTKS.  615 

iroopa  in  this  way  at  a  time  when  the  public  purse  was  unequal 
lo  the  expenditure  of  war  —  but  this  pay,  being  contingent  on 
the  successful  issue  of  the  war,  added  the  sti-ength  of  self-interest 
to  that  of  patriotism  in  stimulating  the  soldier  to  extraordinary 
efforts.  Thirdly,  not  only  did  the  soldier  in  this  way  rtap  his 
pay,  but  also  he  reaped  a  reward  (and  that  besides  a  trophy  and 
perpetual  monument  of  his  public  services),  so  munificent  as  to 
constitute  a  permanent  provision  for  a  family;  and  accordingly 
he  was  now  encouraged,  nay,  enjoined,  to  marry.  For  here  waa 
an  hereditary  landed  estate  equal  to  the  libei*al  maintenance  of 
a  family.  And  thus  did  a  simple  people,  obeying  its  instinct  of 
conquest,  not  only  discover,  in  its  earliest  days,  the  subtle  prin- 
ciple of  Machiavel  —  Let  war  support  war ;  but  (which  is  far 
more  than  Machiavel' s  view)  they  made  each  present  war  sup- 
port many  future  wars  —  by  making  it  support  a  new  offset  from 
the  population,  bound  to  the  mother  city  by  indissoluble  ties  of 
privilege  and  civic  duties;  and  in  many  other  ways  they  made 
every  war,  by  and  through  the  colonizing  system  to  which  it 
gave  occasion,  serviceable  to  future  aggrandizement.  War,  man- 
aged in  this  way,  and  with  these  results,  became  to  Rome  what 
commerce  or  rural  industry  is  to  other  countries,  viz. ,  the  only 
hopeful  and  general  way  for  making  a  fortune.  Fourthly,  by 
means  of  colonies  it  was  that  Rome  delivered  herself  from  her 
surplus  population.  Prosperous  and  well-governed,  the  Roman 
citizens  of  each  generation  outnumbered  those  of  the  generation 
preceding.  But  the  colonies  provided  outlets  for  these  continual 
accessions  of  people,  and  absorbed  them  faster  than  they  could 
arise.*  And  thus  the  great  original  sin  of  modern  States,  that 
heel  of  Achilles  in  which  they  are  all  vulnerable,  and  which 
(generally  speaking)  becomes  more  oppressive  to  the  public  pros- 
perity as   that  prosperity  happens  to  be  greater,   (for  iii  poor 

*  And  in  this  way  we  must  explain  the  fact  —  that,  in  the 
nany  successive  numerations  of  the  people  cdntinually  noticcil  tn 
Livy  and  '  hers,  we  do  not  find  that  sort  of  multiplication  which 
we  might  have  looked  for  in  a  State  so  ably  governed.  The 
truth  is,  that  the  continual  surpluses  had  been  carried  off  by  the 
colonizing  drain,  before  they  could  become  noticeable  or  trouble 
•ome. 


616  KOTES. 

States  and  under  despotic  govemmenia  this  evil  does  not  exist,) 
that  flagrant  infirmity  of  our  own  country,  for  which  no  state*" 
man  has  devised  any  commensurate  remedy,  was  to  ancient  Rom* 
a  perpetual  foundation  and  well-head  of  public  strength  and  en- 
larged resources.  With  us  of  modern  times,  when  population 
greatly  outruns  the  demand  for  labor,  whether  it  be  under  the 
stimulus  of  upright  government,  and  just  laws  justly  adminis. 
teied,  in  combination  with  the  manufacturing  system  (as  in 
England),  or  (as  in  Ireland)  under  the  stimulus  of  idle  habits, 
cheap  subsistence,  and  a  low  standard  of  comfort  —  we  think  it 
much  if  we  can  keep  down  insurrection  by  the  bayonet  and  the 
sabre.  Lucro  ponamus  is  our  cry,  if  we  can  efiect  even  thus 
much;  whereas  Rome,  in  her  simplest  and  pastoral  days,  con- 
verted this  menacing  danger  and  standing  opprobrium  of  modern 
statesmanship  to  her  own  immense  benefit.  Not  satisfied  merely 
to  have  neutralized  it,  she  drew  from  it  the  vital  resources  of  her 
martial  aggrandizement.  For,  Fifthly,  these  colonies  were  in 
two  ways  made  the  corner-stones  of  her  martial  policy  :  1st, 
They  were  looked  to  as  nurseries  of  their  armies;  during  one 
generation  the  original  colonists,  already  trained  to  military 
habits,  were  themselves  disposable  for  this  purpose  on  any  great 
emergency;  these  men  transmitted  heroic  traditions  to  their  pos- 
terity; and,  at  all  events,  a  more  robust  population  was  always 
at  hand  in  agricultural  colonies  than  could  be  had  in  the  metrop- 
olis. Cato  the  elder,  and  all  the  early  writers,  notice  the  quality 
of  such  levies  as  being  far  superior  to  those  drawn  from  a  popu- 
lation of  sedentary  habits.  2dly,  The  Italian  colonies,  one  and 
»11,  performed  the  functions  which  in  our  day  are  assigned  to 
garrisoned  towns  and  frontier  fortresses.  In  the  earliest  times 
they  discharged  a  still  more  critical  service,  by  sometimes  en- 
tii'ely  displacing  a  hostile  population,  and  more  often  by  dividing 
it,  and  breaking  its  unity.  In  cases  of  desperate  resistance  lo 
the  Roman  arms,  marked  by  frequent  infraction  of  treaties,  it 
was  usual  to  remove  the  ofiending  population  to  a  safer  situa- 
tion, separated  from  Rome  by  the  Tiber;  sometimes  entirely  to 
disperse  and  scatter  it.  But,  where  these  extremities  were  not 
tailed  for  by  expediency  or  the  Roman  maxims  of  justice,  it  WM 
'udged  sufficient  to  interpolate,  as  it  were,  the  hostile  people  b^ 


617 


(olonizations  from  Rome,  which  were  completely  organized  *  for 
mutual  aid,  having  officers  of  all  ranks  dispersed  amongst  them, 
and  for  overawing  the  growth  of  insurrectionary  movements 
amongst  their  neighbors.  Acting  on  this  system,  the  Roman 
colonies  in  some  measure  resembled  the  English  Pale,  as  exist- 
ing at  one  era  in  Ireland.  This  mode  of  service,  it  is  true,  be- 
came obsolete  in  process  of  time,  concurrently  with  the  dangers 
which  it  was  shaped  to  meet;  for  the  whole  of  Italy  proper, 
together  with  that  part  of  Italy  called  Cisalpine  Gaul,  was  at 
length  reduced  to  unity  and  obedience  by  the  almighty  republic. 
But  in  forwarding  that  great  end,  and  indispensable  condition 
towards  all  foreign  warfare,  no  one  military  engine  in  the  whole 
armory  of  Rome  availed  so  much  as  her  Italian  colonies.  The 
other  use  of  these  colonies,  as  frontier  garrisons,  or,  at  any  rate, 
as  interposing  between  a  foreign  enemy  and  the  gates  of  Rome, 
they  continued  to  perform  long  after  their  earlier  uses  had 
passed  away;  and  Cicero  himself  notices  their  value  in  this  view. 
'  Colonias,'  says  he  [0?«<.  in  Rulluin'],  'sic  idoneis  in  locia 
contra  suspicionem  periculi  collacarunt,  ut  esse  non  oppida 
ItalisB  sed  propugnacula  imperii  videreutur.'  Finally,  the 
colonies  were  the  best  means  of  promoting  tillage,  and  the  cul- 
ture of  vineyards.  And  though  this  service,  as  regarded  the 
Italian  colonies,  was  greatly  defeated  in  succeeding  times  by  the 
ruinous  largesses  of  corn  [frumentationes'] ,  and  other  vices  of  the 
Roman  policy  after  the  vast  revolution  eflected  by  universal 
luxury,  it  is  not  the  less  true  that,  left  to  themselves  and  their 
natural  tendency,  the  Roman  colonies  would  have  yielded  thia 
last  benefit  as  certainly  as  any  other.  Large  volumes  exist, 
illustrated  by  the  learning  of  Rigaltius,  Salmasius,  and  Goesius, 
upon  the  mere  technical  arrangements  of  the  Roman  colonies; 
and  whole  libraries  might  be  written  on  these  same  colonies, 
oonsidered  as  engines  of  exquisite  state  policy. 

*  That  is  indeed  involved  in  the  technical  term  of  Deductio  j 
for  unless  the  ceremonies,  religious  and  political,  of  inauguration 
tnd  organization,  were  duly  complied  with,  the  colony  was  not 
entitled  to  be  considered  as  deducta  —  that  is,  solemnly  and  cere 
vonially  transplanted  from  the  metropolis. 


618  vornt. 


Note  56.     Page  191. 

On  this  occasion  we  may  notice  that  the  final  execution  of  tha 
vengeance  projected  by  Maternus,  was  reserved  for  a  public  fes- 
tival, exactly  corresponding  to  the  modern  carnival  ;  and  from 
ftn  expression  used  by  Herodian,  it  is  plain  that  meuqueradi'tg 
had  been  an  ancient  practice  in  Rome. 

Note  57.    Page  192. 
See  Casaubon's  notes  upon  Theophrastus. 

Note  58.    Page  193. 

Viz.  the  Temple  of  Peace;  at  that  time  the  most  magnificent 
edifice  in  Rome.  Temples,  it  is  well  known,  were  the  places  used 
in  ancient  times  as  banks  of  deposit.  For  thia  function  they 
we'^e  admirably  fitted  by  their  inviolable  sanctity. 

Note  59.     Page  194. 

What  a  prodigious  opportunity  for  the  zoologist !  — And  con- 
Bidering  that  these  shows  prevailed  for  five  hundred  years,  during 
all  which  period  the  amphitheatre  gave  bounties,  as  it  were,  to 
the  hunter  and  the  fowler  of  every  climate,  and  that,  by  means 
of  a  stimulus  so  constantly  applied,  scarcely  any  animal,  the 
shyest,  rarest,  fiercest,  escaped  the  demands  of  the  arena,  —  no 
one  fact  so  much  illustrates  the  inertia  of  the  public  mind  in 
those  days,  and  the  indifference  to  all  scientific  pursuits,  as  that 
no  annotator  should  have  risen  to  Pliny  the  elder  —  no  rival  tc 
the  immortal  tutor  of  Alexander. 

Note  60.  Page  198. 
It  is  worthy  of  notice,  that,  under  any  suspension  of  the  im- 
peratorial  power  or  oflfice,  the  senate  was  the  body  to  whom  the 
Roman  mind  even  yet  continued  to  turn.  In  this  case,  both  to 
eolor  their  crime  with  a  show  of  public  motives,  and  to  interest 
this  great  body  in  their  own  favor  by  associating  them  in  thei? 


619 


awL.  dangers,  the  conspirators  pretended  to  have  found  a  long 
roll  of  senatorial  names  included  in  the  same  page  of  condemns 
Hon  with  their  own.    A  manifest  fabrication. 

Note  61.    Page  199. 
Historians  have  failed  to  remark  the  contradiction  between 
this  statement  and  the  allegation  that  Latus  selected  Pertinai 
for  the  throne  on  a  consideration  of  his  ability  to  protect  tk« 
Mflaasins  of  C!ommodu8. 

Note  62.    Page  200. 

["  Didius : "  —  The  reader  will  tiud  au  amusing  reference  to 
this  imperial  bidder  in  "  Orthographic  Mutineers,"  Vol.  IV. 
p.  489,  of  the  present  series  of  De  Quincey's  writings.] 

Note  63.  Page  213, 
"  The  completion  of  a  thousand  years,"  —  t.  c,  of  a  thousand 
years  since  the  foundation  of  Rome,  and  not  (let  the  reader  ob- 
serve) since  the  birth  of  Romulus.  Subtract  from  1000  (as  the 
total  lapse  of  years  since  the  natal  day  of  Rome)  the  number  247 
as  representing  that  part  of  the  1000  which  had  accumulated 
since  the  era  of  Christ,  at  the  epoch  of  the  Secular  Games,  and 
there  will  remain  753  for  the  sum  of  the  years  between  Rome's 
nativity  and  the  year  of  our  Lord.  But  as  Romulus  must  have 
reached  manhood  when  he  founded  the  robber  city,  supiK)se  him 
23  years  old  at  that  era,  and  his  birth  will  faU  in  the  year  776 
before  Christ.  And  this  is  the  year  generally  assigned.  But  it 
must  be  remembered  that  there  are  dissentient  schemes  of  chro- 
nt  logy. 

Note  64.    Page  223. 
And  it  is  a  striking  illustration  of  the  extent  to  which  the  reT- 
Dlution  had  gone,  that,  previously  to  the  Persian  expedition  of 
khe  last  Gordian,  Antioch,  the  Roman  capital  of  Syria,  had  been 
locapied  by  the  enemy. 

Note  65.     Page  224. 
This  Arab  emperor  reigned  about  five  years;  and  the  jubilee 
•elebration  occurred  in  his  second  year      Anotner  circumstano* 


620 


NOTES. 


pfives  importance  to  the  Arabian  that,  according  to  one  traditioii< 
he  was  the  first  Christian  emperor.  If  so,  it  is  singular  that  on« 
of  the  bitterest  persecutors  of  Christianity  should  have  been  his 
immediate  successor  —  Decius. 


Note  66.  Page  224. 
It  has  proved  a  most  difficult  problem,  in  be  hands  of  al] 
speculators  upon  the  imperial  history,  to  fathom  the  purposes, 
or  throw  any  light  upon  the  purposes,  of  the  Emperor  Decius,  in 
attempting  the  revival  of  the  ancient  but  necessarily  obsolet* 
office  of  a  public  censorship.  Either  it  was  an  act  of  pure  verbal 
pedantry,  or  a  mere  titular  decoration  of  honor,  (as  if  a  modern 
prince  should  create  a  person  Arch-Grand-Elector,  with  no  ob- 
jects assigned  to  his  electing  faculty,)  or  else,  if  it  really  meant 
to  revive  the  old  duties  of  the  censorship,  and  to  assign  the  very 
same  field  for  the  exercise  of  those  duties,  it  must  be  viewed  as 
the  very  grossest  practical  anachronism  that  has  ever  been  com- 
mitted. We  mean  by  an  anachronism,  in  common  usage,  that 
sort  of  blunder  when  a  man  ascribes  to  one  age  the  habits,  cus- 
toms, or  generally  the  characteristics  of  another.  This,  however, 
may  be  a  mere  lapse  of  memory,  as  to  a  matter  of  fact,  and 
implying  nothing  at  all  discreditable  to  the  understanding,  but 
only  that  a  man  has  shifted  the  boundaries  of  chronology  a  little 
this  way  or  that;  as  if,  for  example,  a  writer  should  speak  of 
printed  books  as  existing  at  the  day  of  Agincourt,  or  of  artillery 
as  existing  in  the  first  Crusade,  here  would  be  an  error,  but  a 
venial  one.  A  far  worse  kind  of  anachronism,  though  rarely 
noticed  as  such,  is  where  a  writer  ascribes  sentiments  and  model 
of  thought  incapable  of  co-existing  with  the  sort  or  the  degree  of 
civilization  then  attained,  or  otherwise  incompatible  with  th« 
structure  of  society  in  the  age  or  the  country  assigned.  For  in- 
etance,  in  Southey's  Don  Roderick  there  is  a  cast  of  sentiment  in 
the  Gothic  king's  remorse  and  contrition  of  heart,  which  hut 
struck  many  readers  as  utterly  unsuitable  to  the  social  and  moral 
development  of  that  age,  and  redolent  of  modern  methodism. 
This,  however,  we  mention  only  as  an  illustration,  without  wish- 
ing  to  hazard  an  opinion  upon  the  justice  of  that  criticism.  But 
"even  such  an   anachronism   is  less  startling  and   extravagant 


HOTES.  621 

irhen  it  is  confined  to  an  ideal  representation  of  things,  than 
where  it  is  practically  embodied  and  brought  into  play  amongst 
the  realities  of  life.  What  would  be  thought  of  a  man  who 
ihould  attempt,  in  1833,  to  revive  the  ancient  ofiBce  of  Fool,  as  it 
existed  down  to  the  reign,  suppose,  of  our  Henry  VIII.  in  Eng- 
land ?  Yet  the  error  of  the  Emperor  Decius  was  far  greater,  if  h« 
did  in  sin  .erity  and  good  faith  believe  that  the  Rome  of  his  timet 
was  amenable  to  that  license  of  unlimited  correction,  and  of  inter- 
ference with  private  affairs,  which  republican  freedom  and  sim- 
plicity had  once  conceded  to  the  censor.  In  reality,  the  ancient 
eensor,  in  some  parts  of  his  office,  was  neither  more  nor  less  than 
a  compendious  legislator.  Acts  of  attainder,  divorce  bills,  &0.., 
illustrates  the  case  in  England ;  they  are  oases  of  law,  modified 
to  meet  the  case  of  an  individual;  and  the  censor,  having  a  sort 
of  equity  jurisdiction,  was  intrusted  with  discretionary  powers  for 
reviewing,  revising,  and  amending,  pro  re  7iata,  whatever  in  the 
private  life  of  a  Roman  citizen  seemed,  to  his  experienced  eye, 
alien  to  the  simplicity  of  an  austere  republic;  whatever  seemed 
vicious  or  capable  of  becoming  vicious,  according  to  their  rude 
notions  of  political  economj';  and,  generally,  whatever  touched 
the  interests  of  the  commonwealth,  though  not  falling  within  th« 
general  province  of  legislation,  either  because  it  might  appear 
undignified  in  its  circumstances,  or  too  narrow  in  its  range  of 
operation  for  a  public  anxiety,  or  because  considerations  of  deli- 
cacy and  prudence  might  render  it  unfit  for  a  public  scrutiny. 
Take  one  case,  drawn  from  actual  experience,  as  an  illustration  : 
A  Roman  nobleman,  under  one  of  the  early  emperors,  hswl 
thought  fit,  by  way  of  increjising  his  income,  to  retire  into  rural 
lodgings,  or  into  some  small  villa,  whilst  his  splendid  mansion 
In  Rome  was  let  to  a  rich  tenant.  That  a  man  who  wore  the 
lacticlave,  (which  in  practical  effect  of  splendor  we  may  consider 
equal  to  the  ribbon  and  star  of  a  modern  order, )  should  descend 
to  such  a  degrading  method  of  raising  money,  was  felt  as  a  scan- 
lal  to  the  whole  nobility.*    Yet  what  could  be  done  ?    To  have 


•  This  feeling  still  exists  in  France.  '  One  winter,'  says  the 
%qthor  of  Tht  English  Army  iv  France,  vol.  ii.  p.  106-7, 
'  onr  commanding  officer's  wife  formed  the  project  of  hiring  tht 


622  yoxES. 

Interfered  with  his  conduct  by  an  express  law,  would  be  to 
Infringe  the  sacred  rights  of  property,  and  to  say,  in  effect,  that 
ft  man  should  not  do  what  he  would  with  his  own.  This  would 
have  been  a  remedy  far  worse  than  the  evil  to  which  it  waa 
applied ;  nor  could  it  have  been  possible  so  to  shape  the  principle 
of  a  law,  as  not  to  make  it  far  more  comprehensible  than  was 
iesired.  The  senator's  trespass  was  in  a  matter  of  decorum, 
bal  the  law  would  have  trespassed  on  the  first  principles  of 
justice.  Here,  then,  was  a  case  within  the  proper  jurisdiction 
•f  the  censor;  he  took  notice,  in  his  public  report,  of  the  seni^ 


chateau  during  the  absence  of  the  owner  ;  but  a  more  profound 
insult  could  not  have  been  offered  to  a  Chevalier  de  St.  Louis. 
Hire  his  house !  What  could  these  people  take  him  for  ?  A 
sordid  wretch  who  would  stoop  to  make  money  by  such  means  i 
They  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  themselves.  He  could  never  respect 
an  Englishman  again.'  '  And  yet,'  adds  the  writer,  '  this  gen- 
tleman (had  an  officer  been  billeted  there)  would  have  sold  him 
a  bottle  of  wine  out  of  his  cellar,  or  a  billet  of  wood  from  his 
Btack,  or  an  egg  from  his  hen-house,  at  a  profit  of  fifty  per  cent., 
not  only  without  scruple,  but  upon  no  other  terms.  It  was  as 
common  as  ordering  wine  at  a  tavern,  to  call  the  servant  of  any 
man's  establishment  where  we  happened  to  be  quartered,  and 
ilemand  an  account  of  his  cellar,  as  well  as  the  price  of  the  wine 
we  selected ! '  This  feeling  existed,  and  perhaps  to  the  same 
extent,  two  centuries  ago,  in  England.  Not  only  did  the  aris- 
tocracy think  it  a  degradation  to  act  the  part  of  landlord  with 
respect  to  their  own  houses,  but  also,  except  in  select  cases,  to 
act  that  of  tenant.  Thus,  the  first  Lord  Brooke  (the  famous 
Fulke  Greville),  writing  to  inform  his  next  neighbor,  a  woman 
of  rank,  that  the  house  she  occupied  had  been  purchased  by  a 
London  citizen,  confesses  his  fears  that  he  shall  in  consequence 
losa  so  valuable  a  neighbor;  for,  doubtless  he  adds,  your  lady- 
ship will  not  remain  as  tenant  to  '  such  a  fellow.'  And  yet  the 
man  had  notoriously  held  the  office  of  Lord  Mayor,  which  made 
bim,  for  the  time.  Right  Honorable.  The  lulians  of  this  iay 
make  no  scruple  to  let  off  the  whole,  or  even  part,  of  their  fint 
mansions  to  strangers. 


623 


tor's  error;  or  probably,  before  coming  to  that  extremity,  lie 
admonished  him  privately  on  the  subject.  Just  as,  in  England, 
had  there  been  such  an  officer,  he  would  have  reproved  those 
men  of  rank  who  mounted  the  coach-box,  who  extended  a  public 
patronage  to  the  '  fancy,'  or  who  rode  their  own  horses  at  • 
race.  Such  a  reproof,  however,  unless  it  were  made  practically 
operative,  and  were  powerfully  supported  by  the  whole  body  of 
the  aristocracy,  would  recoil  upon  its  author  as  a  piece  of  imper- 
tinence, and  would  soon  be  resented  as  an  unwarrantable  liberty 
taken  with  private  life ;  the  censor  would  be  kicked  or  challenged 
to  private  combat,  according  to  the  taste  of  the  parties  aggrieved. 
The  office  is  clearly  in  this  dilemma  :  if  the  censor  is  supported 
by  the  State,  then  he  combines  in  his  own  person  both  legislative 
and  executive  functions,  and  possesses  a  power  which  is  fright- 
fully irresponsible;  if,  on  the  other  hand,  he  is  left  to  such  sup- 
port  as  he  can  find  in  the  prevailing  spirit  of  manners,  and  the 
old  traditionary  veneration  for  his  sacred  character,  he  stands 
very  much  in  the  situation  of  a  priesthood,  which  has  great 
power  or  none  at  all,  according  to  the  condition  of  a  country  in 
moral  and  religious  feeling,  coupled  with  the  more  or  less  prim- 
itive state  of  manners.  How,  then,  with  any  rational  prospect 
of  success ,  could  Decius  attempt  the  revival  of  an  office  depend- 
ing so  entirely  on  moral  supports,  in  an  age  when  all  those  sup- 
ports were  withdrawn  ?  The  prevailing  spirit  of  manners  was 
hardly  fitted  to  sustain  even  a  toleration  of  such  an  office  ;  and 
as  to  the  traditionary  veneration  for  the  sacred  character,  from 
long  disuse  of  its  practical  functions,  that  probably  was  altogether 
fcxtinct.  If  these  considerations  are  plain  and  intelligible  even 
to  us,  by  the  men  of  that  day  they  must  have  been  felt  with  a 
degree  of  force  that  could  leave  no  room  for  doubt  or  speculatiou 
on  the  matter.  How  was  it,  then,  that  the  emperor  only  should 
have  been  blind  to  such  general  light  ? 

In  the  absence  of  all  other,  even  plausible,  solutions  of  this 
-lifficulty,  we  shall  state  our  own  theory  of  the  matter.  Decius, 
fts  is  evident  from  his  fierce  persecution  of  the  Christians,  was 
not  disposed  to  treat  Chrbtianity  with  indifference,  under  any 
form  which  it  might  assume,  or  however  masked.  Yet  there 
were  quarters  in  which  it  lurked  not  liaole  to  the  ordinary 
nodes  of  attack.     Christianity  was  creeping  up  with  inaudible 


624 


WOTE8. 


iteps  into  high  places  —  nay,  into  the  very  highest.  The  im- 
mediate predecessor  of  Decius  upon  the  throne,  Philip  the  Arab, 
was  known  to  be  a  disciple  of  the  new  faith;  and  amongst  the 
nobles  of  Borne,  through  the  females  and  the  slaves,  that  faith 
had  spread  its  roots  in  every  direction.  Some  secrecy,  however, 
attached  to  the  profession  of  a  religion  so  often  proscribed. 
Who  should  presume  to  tear  away  the  mask  which  prudence  or 
timidity  had  taken  up  ?  A  delator,  or  professional  informer, 
was  an  infamous  character.  To  deal  with  the  noble  and  illus- 
trious, the  descendants  of  the  Marcelli  and  the  Gracchi,  thera 
most  be  nothing  less  than  a  great  state  officer,  supported  by  tha 
censor  and  the  sena«:e,  having  an  unlimited  privilege  of  scrutin  y 
and  censure,  authorized  to  inflict  the  brand  of  infamy  for  oftenoes 
not  challenged  by  express  law,  and  yet  emanating  from  an  elder 
institution,  familiar  to  the  days  of  reputed  liberty.  Such  an 
officer  was  the  censor;  and  such  were  the  antichristian  purposes 
of  Decius  in  his  revival. 

Note  67.     Page  228. 

Some  of  these  traditions  have  been  preserved,  which  repre- 
sent  Sapor  as  using  his  imperial  captive  for  his  stepping-stone, 
or  anabathruin,  in  mounting  his  horse.  Others  go  farther,  and 
pretend  that  Sapor  actually  flayed  his  unhappy  prisoner  while 
yet  alive.  The  temptation  to  these  stories  was  perhaps  found 
in  the  craving  for  the  marvellous,  and  in  the  desire  to  make 
the  contrast  more  striking  between  the  two  extremes  in  Val»- 
rum's  life. 

Note  68.    Page  228. 

Palmyra,  the  Scriptural  Tadmor  in  the  wilderness,  to  which  in 
our  days  Lady  Hester  Stanhope  (niece  to  the  great  minister 
Pitt,  and  seventy  times  seven  more  orientally  proud,  though 
daughter  of  the  freeborn  nation,  than  ever  was  Zenobia  that 
from  infancy  trode  on  the  necks  of  slaves)  made  her  way  from 
Damascus,  at  some  risk,  amongst  clouds  of  Arabs,  she  riding 
the  whole  way  on  horseback  in  the  centre  of  robber  tribes,  and 
t»ith  a  train  such  as  that  of  sultans  or  of  Roman  pro-consuls. 


NOTES.  62i 

Note  69.     Page  229 

And  this  incompetency  was  permanently  increased  by  rebel- 
Bons  that  were  brief  and  fugitive  :  for  each  insurgent  almost 
necessarily  maintained  himself  for  the  moment  by  spoliationi 
and  robberies  which  left  lasting  effects  behind  them ;  and  too 
often  ne  was  tempted  to  ally  himself  with  some  foreign  enemy 
uiiongst  the  barbarians  ;  and  perhaps  to  introduce  him  into  tba 
heart  of  the  empire. 

Note  70.    Page  230, 

"  Balkan  .• "  —  A  Russian  general  in  our  own  day,  for  cross- 
ing this  diflScult  range  of  mouutains  as  a  victor,  was  by  the 
Czar  Nicholas  raised  to  the  title  of  Balkanski.  But  it  seems 
there  should  rightfully  have  been  an  elder  creation.  Claudius 
might  have  pre-occupied  the  ground,  as  the  original  Balkanski. 

Note  71.     Page  232. 

Zenobia  is  complimented  by  all  historians  for  her  magna- 
nimity; but  with  no  foundation  in  truth.  Her  first  salutation 
to  Aurelian  was  a  specimen  of  abject  flattery;  and  her  last 
'jublic  words  were  evidences  of  the  basest  treachery  in  giving  up 
her  generals,  and  her  chief  counsellor  Longinus,  to  the  vengeance 
pf  the  ungenerous  enemy. 

Note  72.    Page  232. 

"Difficulty!"  —  Difficulty  from  what?  "We  presume  from 
scarcity  of  provision.'!,  and  (as  regarded  the  siege)  scarcity  of 
woodi  But  mark  how  these  vaunted  and  vaunting  Romans,  so 
often  as  they  found  themselves  in  our  modem  straits,  sat  down 
to  cry.  Heavier  by  far  have  been  our  British  perplexities  upon 
many  an  Oriental  field ;  but  did  we  sit  down  to  cry  ? 

Note  73      Page  236. 

"  A  fortune  of  three  millions  sterling :  "  —  Whence  came  these 
enormous  fortunes  1  Several  sources  might  be  indicated ;  but 
amongst  tliem  perhaps  the  conimones'v  was  this  —  everj  citizen 
Df  marked  distinction  made  it  a  practice,  if  circumstances 
tivored,  to  leave  a  lesracy  to  others  of  the  same  class  whom  he 
40 


626  NOTES. 

happened  to  esteem,  or  wished  to  acknowledge  as  special  friends 
A  very  good  custom,  more  honoured  in  the  observance  than  the 
breach,  and  particularly  well  suited  to  our  ovni  merits. 

Note  74.     Page  245. 

*  Thirteen  thousand  chambers.^ — The  number  of  the  chamber 
In  this  prodigious  palace  is  usually  estimated  at  that  amount.  Bnt 
Lady  Miller,  who  made  particular  inquiries  on  this  subject, 
ascertained  that  the  total  amount,  including  cellars  and  closets, 
capable  of  receiving  a  bed,  was  fifteen  thousand. 

Note  75.     Page  248. 

In  no  point  of  his  policy  was  the  cunning  or  the  sagacity  of 
Augustus  so  much  displayed,  as  in  his  treaty  of  partition  with 
the  senate,  which  settled  the  distribution  of  the  provinces,  and 
their  future  administration.  Seeming  to  take  upon  himself  all 
the  trouble  and  hazard,  he  did  in  effect  appropriate  all  the 
power,  and  left  to  the  senate  little  more  than  trophies  of  show 
and  ornament.  As  a  first  step,  all  the  greater  provinces,  as 
Spain  and  Gaul,  were  subdivided  into  many  smaller  ones.  Thifl 
done,  Augustus  proposed  that  the  senate  should  preside  over  the 
administration  of  those  amongst  them  which  were  peaceably 
settled,  and  which  paid  a  regular  tribute  ;  whilst  all  those  which 
were  the  seats  of  danger,  —  either  as  being  exposed  to  hostile 
inroads,  or  to  internal  commotions,  —  all,  therefore,  in  fact, 
which  could  justify  the  keeping  up  of  a  military  f'^rce,  he 
assigned  to  himself.  In  virtue  of  this  arrangement  fiie  senate 
possessed  in  Africa  those  provinces  which  had  been  formed  oi>t 
of  Carthage,  Cyrene,  and  the  kingdom  of  Numidia;  in  Europe, 
the  richest  and  most  quiet  part  of  Spain  {Hispania  Batica,) 
with  the  large  islands  of  Sicily,  Sardinia,  Corsica,  and  Crete, 
and  some  districts  of  Greece;  in  Asia,  the  kingdoms  of  Pontua 
and  Bithynia,  with  that  part  of  Asia  Minor  technically  called 
^sia;  whilst,  for  his  own  share,  Augustus  retained  Gaul,  Syria, 
ihe  chief  part  of  Spain,  and  Egypt,  the  granary  of  Rome 
finally,  all  the  military  posts  on  the  Euphrates,  on  the  Danube, 
ir  the  Rhine. 

Yet  even  the  showy  concessions  here  made  to  the  senate  wert 


627 


iefeated  by  another  political  institution,  settled  at  the  same  time. 
It  had  been  agreed  that  the  governors  of  provinces  should  b« 
appointed  by  the  emperor  and  the  senate  jointly.  But  within 
the  senatorial  jurisdiction,  these  governors,  with  the  title  of 
Proconsuls,  were  to  have  no  military  power  whatsoever;  and 
the  appointments  were  good  only  for  a  single  year.  Whereas,  in 
the  imperatorial  provinces,  where  the  governor  bore  the  title  of 
Propreetor,  there  was  provision  made  for  a  military  establislj- 
ment;  and  as  to  duration,  the  office  was  regulated  entirely  by 
the  emperor's  pleasui^.  One  other  ordinance,  on  the  same 
head,  riveted  the  vassalage  of  the  senate.  Hitherto,  a  great 
source  of  the  senate's  power  had  been  found  in  the  uncontrolled 
management  of  the  provincial  revenues  ;  but  at  this  time, 
Augustus  so  arranged  that  branch  of  the  administration,  that, 
throughout  the  senatorian  or  proconsular  provinces,  aU  taxea 
were  immediately  paid  into  the  cerarium,  or  treasury  of  the  State; 
whilst  the  whole  revenues  of  the  propraetorian  (or  imperatorial) 
provinces,  from  this  time  forward,  flowed  into  the  fiscus,  or 
private  treasure  of  the  individual  emperor. 

Note  76.  Page  253. 
On  the  abdication  of  Dioclesian  and  of  Maximian,  Galerius  and 
Constantius  succeeded  as  the  new  Augusti.  But  Galerius,  &» 
the  more  immediate  representative  of  Dioclesian,  thought  him- 
self entitled  to  appoint  both  Caesars,  —  the  Daza  (or  Maximus) 
in  Syria,  Severus  in  Italy.  Meantime,  Constantine,  the  son  of 
Constantius,  with  difficulty  obtaining  permission  from  Galerius 
paid  a  visit  to  his  father;  upon  whose  death,  which  followed 
soon  after,  Constantine  came  forward  as  a  Caesar,  under  the 
appointment  of  his  father.  Galerius  submitted  with  a  bad 
grace;  but  Maxentius,  a  reputed  son  of  Maxim ian,  was  roused 
by  emulation  with  Constantine  to  assume  the  purple ;  and  being 
joined  by  his  father,  they  jointly  attacked  and  destroyed 
Severus  Galerius,  to  revenge  the  death  of  his  own  Caesar, 
Advanced  towards  Rome  ;  but  being  compelled  to  a  disastrous 
Iretrcat,  he  resorted  to  the  measure  of  associating  another  empe- 
ror with  himself,  as  a  balance  to  his  new  enemies.  This  waa 
Ucinius^  and  thus,  at  one  time,  there  were  six  emperors,  either 


628  NOTES. 

%a  August!  or  as  Caesars.     Galerius,  however,  dying,  all  the  real 
were  in  succession  destroyed  by  Constantine. 

Note  77.  Page  254 
Valentinian  the  First,  who  admitted  his  brother  Valens  to  a 
partnership  in  the  empire,  had,  by  his  first  wife,  an  elder  son, 
Gratian,  who  reigned  and  associated  with  himself  Theodosius, 
commonly  called  the  Great.  By  his  second  wife  he  had  Val- 
entinian the  Second,  who,  upon  the  death  of  his  brother  Gratian, 
was  allowed  to  share  the  empire  by  Theodosius.  Theodosius,  by 
his  first  wife,  had  two  sons,  — Arcadius,  who  afterwards  reigned 
in  the  east,  and  Honorius,  whose  western  reign  was  so  much 
illustrated  by  Stilicho.  By  a  second  wife,  daughter  to  Valen- 
tinian the  First,  Theodosius  had  a  daughter,  (half-sister,  there- 
fore,  to  Honorius,  whose  son  was  Valentinian  the  Third ;  and 
through  this  alliance  it  was  that  the  two  last  emperors  of  con- 
spicuous mark  united  their  two  houses,  and  entwined  their  sep- 
arate ciphers,  so  that  more  gracefully,  and  with  the  commen- 
surate grandeur  of  a  doubleheaded  eagle  looking  east  and  west 
to  the  rising,  but  also,  alas !  to  the  setting  sun,  the  brother 
Caesars  might  take  leave  of  the  children  of  Romulus  in  the  pa- 
thetic but  lofty  words  of  the  departing  gladiators,  Morituri,  we 
that  are  now  to  die,  vos  salutamus,  make  our  farewell  salutation 
to  you! 

Note  78.   Page  265. 

Even  here  there  is  a  risk  of  being  misunderstood.  Some  will 
read  this  term  ex  pane  in  the  sense,  that  now  there  are  no  neu- 
tral statements  surviving  But  such  statements  there  never 
were.  The  controversy  moving  for  a  whole  century  in  Borne 
before  Pharsalia,  was  not  about  facts,  but  about  constitutional 
principles  ;  and  as  to  that  question  there  could  be  no  neutrality. 
From  the  nature  of  the  case,  the  truth  must  have  lain  with  one 
»f  the  parties  ;  compromise,  or  intermediate  temperament,  was 
inapplicable.  What  we  complam  of  as  overlooked  is,  not  tha/ 
the  surviving  records  of  the  quarrel  are  partisan  records 
'that  being  a  mere  necessity,)  but  in  the  forensic  use  of  th« 


NOTES.  629 

term  ex  parte,  that  they  are  such  without  benefit  of  eqnilibrioia 
»r  modification  from  the  partisan  statements  in  the  opposite 
Uiterest 

Note  79.   Page  266. 

Cicero  in  Semen  Briefen,  Von  Bernhabd  Rouolf  A££K£i« 
Professor  am  Raths-Gymnas,  zu  Osnabruch.    Hanover,  1835. 

Note  80.    Page  268. 

•  Hatred.^  —  It  exemplifies  the  pertinacity  of  this  hatred  to 
mention,  that  Middleton  was  one  of  the  men  who  sought,  for 
twenty  years,  some  historical  facts  that  might  conform  to  Leslie's 
four  conditions,  {Short  Melliod  with  the  Deists,)  and  yet  evade 
Leslie's  logic.  We  think  little  of  Leslie's  argument,  which  never 
could  have  been  valued  by  a  sincerely  religious  man.  But  the 
rage  of  Middleton,  and  his  perseve^-ance,  illustrate  his  temper  of 
warfare. 

Note  81.  Page  270. 

•  Rich.'  —  We  may  consider  Cicero  as  worth,  in  a  case  of  ne- 
cessity, at  least  £400,000.  Upon  that  part  of  this  property  whicC' 
lay  in  money,  there  was  always  a  very  high  interest  to  be  ob- 
tained ;  but  not  so  readily  a  good  security  for  the  principal.  The 
means  of  increasing  this  fortune  by  marriage  was  continually 
oft'ering  to  a  leading  senator,  such  as  Cicero,  and  the  facility 
of  divorce  aided  this  resource. 


Note  82.    Page  2-3. 

'  Laurel  crown.''  — /\jnongst  the  honors  granted  to  Pompey  a'. 
%  very  early  period,  was  the  liberty  to  wear  a  diadem  or  corona 
on  ceremonial  occasions.  The  common  reading  was  '  aureain 
'oronam  '  until  Lipsius  suggested  lauream  ;  which  correction 
has  since  been  generally  adopted  uito  the  text.  This  distinction 
*«  remarkable  when  contrasted  wHh  the  same  tropJiy  as  after- 


630  yoTES. 

wards  conceded  to  Cassar,  in  relation  to  the  popular  feelings,  so 
iitferent  in  the  two  cases. 

Note  83.    Page  315. 

•  Of  the  superb  Aurelian  : '  —  The  particular  occasion  was  the 
inaurrection  in  the  East,  of  which  the  ostensible  leaders  were  the 
great  lieutenants  of  Palmyra  —  Odenathus,  and  his  widow, 
Zenobia.  The  alarm  at  Rome  was  out  of  all  proportion  to  the 
danger,  and  well  illustrated  the  force  of  the  great  historian's 
aphorism — Omne  ignoium  pro  magnifico.  In  one  sentence  of 
his  despatch,  Aurelian  aimed  at  a  contest  with  the  groiit  Julian 
gasconade  of  Veni,  vidi,  vici.  His  words  are — Fugavimtu, 
obtedimus,  cruciavimus,  occidimus. 

Note  84.   Page  322. 

•  Pretended  barbarians,  Gothic,  Vandalish,''  S^c.  —  Had  it 
been  true  that  these  tramontane  people  were  as  ferocious  in  man- 
ners or  appearance  as  was  alleged,  it  would  not  therefore  have 
followed  that  they  were  barbarous  in  their  modes  of  thinking 
and  feeling;  or,  if  that  also  had  been  true,  surely  it  became  the 
Romans  to  recollect  what  very  barbarians,  both  in  mind,  and 
manners,  and  appearance,  were  some  of  their  own  Caesars. 
Meantime  it  appears,  that  not  only  Alaric  the  Goth,  but  even 
Attila  the  Hun,  in  popular  repute  the  most  absolute  Ogre  of  all 
the  Transalpine  invaders,  turns  out  in  more  thoughtful  repre- 
Bcntations  to  have  been  a  prince  of  peculiarly  mild  demeanor, 
and  apparently  upright  character. 

Note  85.   Page  326. 

•  Eaten  a  dish  of  boiled  hippopotamus  : '  —  We  once  thought 
that  some  error  might  exist  in  the  text  —  edisse  for  edidisse  — 
»nd  that  a  man  exposed  a  hippopotamus  at  the  games  of  the 
amphitheatre  ;  but  we  are  now  satisfied  that  he  ate  the  hippo- 
potamua 

Note  86.  Page  329. 

•  All  had  been  forgotten/  —  It  is  true  that  the  Augustan 
fTJter,  rather  than  appear  to  know  nothing  at  all,  tells  a  most 


NOTES.  631 

Idle  fable  about  a  scurra  having  intruded  into  Caesar's  t«nt,  and 
upon  finding  the  young  Emperor  awake,  had  excited  his  '■oni- 
rades  to  the  murder  for  fear  of  being  punished  for  his  insolent 
intrusion.  But  the  whole  story  is  nonsense  ;  a  camp  legend,  or 
at  the  best  a  fable  put  forth  by  the  real  conspirators  to  Hlask  the 
truth.  The  writer  did  not  believe  it  himself.  By  the  way,  a 
icurra  does  not  retain  its  classical  sense  of  a  buffoon  in  the 
Augustan  History  ;  it  means  a  aiuuruiiv?.ul,  or  body-guard  ; 
ut  why,  is  yet  undiscovered.  Our  own  belief  is  —  that  the 
word  is  a  Thracian  or  a  Gothic  word  ;  the  body-guards  being 
derived  from  those  nations. 

Note  87.    Page  382. 

Geographic  des  Herodot  —  dargestellt  von  Hermann  Bobrik 
Koenigsberg,  1838. 

Note  83.   Page  386. 

But  —  '  How  has  it  prevailed,'  some  will  ask,  '  if  an  error  : 
Have  not  great  scholars  sate  upon  Herodotus  ?  '  Doubtless, 
many.  There  is  none  greater,  for  instance,  merely  as  a  verbal 
scholar,  than  Valckenaer.  Whence  we  conclude  that  inevitably 
this  error  has  been  remarked  somewhere.  And  as  to  the  erro- 
neous Latin  version  still  keeping  its  ground,  partly  that  may  be 
due  tfl  the  sort  of  superstition  which  everywhere  protects  old 
usages  in  formal  situations  like  a  title-page,  partly  to  the  fact 
that  there  is  no  happy  Latin  word  to  express  '  Researches. ' 
But,  however,  that  may  be,  all  the  scholars  in  the  world  cannot 
get  rid  of  the  evidence  involved  in  the  general  use  of  the  word 
i'lTopta  by  Herodotus. 

Note  89.    Page  392. 

*  Two-horned,''  in  one  view,  as  having  no  successor,  Alexander 
was  called  the  one-horned.  But  it  is  very  singular  that  all 
Oriental  nations,  without  knowing  anything  of  the  scriptural 
symbols  under  which  Alexander  is  described  by  Daniel  as  the 
rtrong  he-goat  who  butted  against  the  ram  of  Persia,  have 
»1  ways  called  him  the  '  two-homed,' with  a  covert  allusion  \a 


632 


NOTES. 


lis  European  and  his  Asiatic  kingdom.  And  it  is  equally  singu- 
lar, that  unintentionally  this  symbol  falls  in  with  Alexaoder's 
own  assumption  of  a  descent  from  Libyan  Jupiter-Ammon,  t« 
whom  the  double  horns  were  an  indispensable  and  characterietio 
lymboL 

Note  90.    Page  393. 

Viz.  (as  I  believe),  by  Vicessimus  Knox  —  a  writer  now 
entirely  forgotten.  "Father  of  History  yon  call  him''  Much 
rather  the  Father  of  Lies." 

Note  91.   Page  397. 

Which  edition  the  arrogant  Mathias  Ln  his  Pursuits  of  Liiero' 
lure,  (by  far  the  most  popular  of  books  from  1797  to  1802,) 
highly  praised  ;  though  otherwise  amusing  himself  with  the 
folly  of  the  other  gray-headed  men  contending  for  a  school- 
boy's prize.  It  W£is  the  loss  of  dignity,  however,  in  the  transla- 
tor, not  their  worthless  Greek,  which  he  saw  cause  to  ridicule. 

Note  92.    Page  402. 

Which  word  India,  it  must  be  remembered,  was  liable  to  no 
Buch  equivocation  as  it  is  now.  India  meant  simply  the  land  of 
the  river  Indus,  i.  e.,  all  the  territory  lying  eastward  of  that 
river  down  to  the  mouths  of  the  Ganges ;  and  the  Indians 
meant  simply  the  Hindoos,  or  natives  of  Hindostan.  Whereas, 
at  present,  we  give  a  secondary  sense  to  the  word  Indian,  ap- 
plying it  to  a  race  of  savages  in  the  New  World,  viz.,  to  all  the 
aboriginal  natives  of  the  American  continent,  and  also  to  the 
aboriginal  natives  of  all  the  islands  scattered  over  the  Pacific 
Ocean  to  the  west  of  that  continent ;  and  all  the  islands  in  the 
Gulf  of  Mexico  to  the  east  of  it.  Standing  confusion  has  thu<i 
been  introduced  into  the  acceptation  of  the  word  Indian  ;  a  con- 
fasion  corresponding  to  that  which  besieged  the  ancient  use  oi 
the  term  Scythian,  and,  in  a  minor  degree,  the  term  Ethiopian 

Note  93.    Page  453. 

But  how  like  Homer  ?  Homer,  and  most  other  classical  nar 
rative  poets,  move  indifferently  (and  perhaps  equally)  by  in^ei 


635 


cLange  of  speeches,  sometimes  colloquial  and  gossiping,  some 
times  stately  and  haranguing.    Plato  forgets  his  Homer. 

Note  94.    Page  454. 

Probably: — more  than  probably,  I  fear:  Plato,  it  may  be 
inspected,  cultivated  the  arts  of  petty  larceny  to  an  extent  that 
was  far  from  philosophic.  I  said  nothing,  but  winked  at  his 
dishonesty,  when  some  pages  back  he  thought  proper  to  charge 
upon  Homer  and  Hesiod  the  monstrous  forgery  of  Jupiter  Op- 
timus  Maximus  and  all  Olympus,  nothing  less  (if  the  reader 
will  believe  me)  than  the  whole  Pautheon.  But  in  fact  that 
i^harge  was  fraudulently  appropriated  by  Plato  from  a  better 
man,  viz.,  Herodotus,  who  must  have  been  fifty  years  older 
ihan  the  philosopher.  And  now  at  this  point  again  we  find 
the  philosopher  filching  from  Euripides  ! 

Note  95.     Page  471. 

What  I  mean  is  —  that  eacli  individual  amongst  the  women 
iould  know  for  certain  whether  she  ever  had  been  a  parent, 
though  not  whether  she  still  continued  such  :  but  to  the  men 
even  this  limited  knowledge  was  denied.  Their  own  hypothetic 
interest  in  the  young  rear-guard  who  were  snatching  a  holiday 
..pectacle  from  the  bloody  conflict  of  their  possible  papas,  would 
therefore  reasonably  siuk  below  zero.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that 
Plato  would  not  forbid  the  soldiers  to  distribute  an  occasional 
kicking  amongst  these  young  scoundrels,  who  would  doubtless 
be  engaged  in  betting  on  the  several  events  as  at  a  main  of 
game  cocks  —  an  amusement  so  extensively  patronized  by  Plato 
himself. 

Note  96.    Page  484. 
'  In  procinct :  *  —  Milton's   translation    ( somewhere   m    tat 
•  Paradise  Regained  ')  of  the  technical  phrase  '  in  procinctu.' 

Note  97.  Page  485. 
•  Geologists  know  not : '  —  Tn  man  the  sixtieth  part  of  six  thou- 
»and  years  is  a  very  venerable  age.  But  as  to  a  planet,  as  to  ou» 
gttle  earth,  instead  of  arguing  dotage,  six  thousand  years  maj 
have  scarcely  carried  her  beyond  babyhood.  Some  people  think 
ibe  is  cutting  her  first  teeth;  some  think  her  in  her  teens.     But, 


684 


NOTES. 


Beriously,  it  is  a  very  interesting  problem.     Do  the  sixty  cents 
ries  of  our  earth  imply  youth,  maturity,  or  dotage  ? 

Note  98.    Page  486. 

•  Everywhere  the  ancients  wejit  to  bed,  like  good  boys, from, 
seven  to  nine  o'clock  : '  —  As  I  am  perfectly  serious,  I  must  beg 
v\e  reader,  who  fancies  any  joke  in  all  this,  to  consider  what  an 
in-mense  difference  it  must  have  made  to  the  earth,  considered  aa 
a  steward  of  her  own  resources  —  whether  great  nations,  in  a  pe- 
riod when  their  resources  were  so  feebly  developed,  did,  or  did 
not,  for  many  centuries,  require  candles;  and,  I  may  add,  fire. 
The  five  heads  of  human  expenditure  are  —  1.  Food;  2.  Shelter; 
8.  Clothing;  4.  Fuel;  5.  Light.  All  were  pitched  on  a  lower  scale 
in  the  Pagan  era;  and  the  two  last  were  almost  banished  from 
ancient  housekeeping.  What  a  great  relief  this  must  have  been 
to  our  good  mother  the  earth  !  who  a,t  first  was  obliged  to  request 
of  her  children  that  they  would  settle  round  the  Mediterranean. 
Bhe  could  not  even  afford  them  water,  unless  they  would  come 
BJid  fetch  it  themselves  out  of  a  common  tank  or  cistern. 

Note  99.  Page  487. 
'  The  mane  salutantes  : '  —  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the 
levees  of  modern  princes  and  ministers  have  been  inherited  from 
this  ancient  usage  of  Rome;  one  which  belonged  to  Rome  repub- 
lican, as  well  as  Rome  imperial.  The  fiction  in  our  modern 
practice  is —  that  we  wait  upon  the  lever,  or  rising  of  the  prince, 
in  France,  at  one  era,  this  fiction  waa  realized  :  the  courtiers 
did  really  attend  the  king's  dressing.  And,  as  to  the  queen, 
even  up  to  the  Revolution,  Marie  Antoinette  gave  audience  at  her 
toilette. 

Note  100.  Page  490. 

•  Or  again,  "  siccum  pro  biscocto,  ut  hodie  vocamus,  sume- 
musl"' — It  is  odd  enough  that  a  scholar  so  complete  aa 
Balmasius,  whom  nothing  ever  escapes,  should  have  overlooked 
BO  obvious  an  alternative  as  that  of  siccus  in  the  sense  of  bcinf| 
•ithout  opso.iium —  Scotice,  without  'kitchen.' 


NOTES.  635 


NoTElOl.  Page  492. 

*  The  whole  amount  of  relief: '  —  From  which  it  appears  hon 
grossly  Locke  (see  his  *  Education  ')  was  deceived  in  fancying 
that  Augustus  practised  any  remarkable  abstinence  in  taking 
cnly  a  bit  of  bread  and  a  raisin  or  two,  by  way  of  luncheon. 
Augustus  did  no  more  than  most  people  did ;  secondly,  he  ab- 
stained only  upon  principles  of  luxury  with  a  view  to  dinner  ; 
fcnd  thirdly,  for  this  dinner  he  never  waited  longer  than  up  to 
four  o'clock. 

Note  102.  Page  498. 

*  Mansiones : '  —  The  halts  of  the  Roman  legions,  the  station- 
ary places  of  repose  which  divided  the  marches,  were  so  called. 

Note  103.  Page  503. 
'  The  Everlasting  Jew  : '  —  The  German  name  for  what  we 
English  call  the  Wandering  Jew.  The  German  imagination  has 
been  most  struck  by  the  duration  of  the  man's  life,  and  his  un- 
happy sanctity  from  death;  the  English,  by  the  unrestingness  of 
the  man's  life,  his  incapacity  of  repose. 

Note  104.  Page  509. 

*  Immeasurable  toga  :'  —  It  is  very  true  that  in  the  tmie  of 
Augustus  the  toga  had  disappeared  amongst  the  lowest  plebs, 
and  greatly  Augustus  was  shocked  at  that  spectacle.  It  is  a  very 
eurious  fiict  in  itself,  especially  as  expounding  the  main  cause  of 
Ihe  civil  wars.  Mere  poverty,  and  the  absence  of  bribery  from 
Rome,  whilst  all  popular  competition  for  oflSces  drooped,  cao 
»loae  explain  this  remarkable  revolution  of  dress. 

Note  105.  Page  517. 
'  His  young  English  Bride  : '  —  The  case  of  an  old  man,  or 
one  reputed  old,  marrying  a  very  girlish  wife,  is  always  too  much 
'or  the  gravity  of  history;  and,  rather  than  'ose  the  joke,  the 
tiist()rian  prudently  disguises  the  age,  whicli,  after  all,  in  this 
sa.se  w;us  not  al)ove  iifty-four.     And  the  very  persons  who  insist 


636  KTOTES. 

on  the  late  dinner  as  the  proximate  cause  of  death,  elsewhere  in- 
sinuate something  more  plausible,  but  not  so  decorously  expressed. 
It  is  odd  that  this  amiable  prince,  so  memorable  as  having  been 
a  martyr  to  late  dining  at  eleven  a.  m.,  was  the  same  person  who 
is  so  equally  memorable  for  the  noble,  almost  the  sublime,  answer 
about  a  King  of  France  not  remembering  the  wrongs  of  a  Duke 
of  Orleans. 

Note  106.  Page  520 
*  Took  their  caena  at  noon : '  —  And,  by  the  way,  in  order  to 
show  how  little  cana  had  to  do  with  any  evening  hour  (though, 
in  any  age  but  that  of  our  fathers,  four  in  the  afternoon  would 
never  have  been  thought  an  evening  hour),  the  Roman  gour- 
mands and  bons  vivants  continued  through  the  very  last  ages  of 
Rome  to  take  their  cana,  when  more  than  usually  sumptuous,  at 
noon.  This,  indeed,  all  people  did  occasionally,  just  as  we  some- 
times give  a  dinner  even  now  so  early  as  four  p.  m.,  under  the 
name  of  a  breakfast.  Those  who  took  their  ccBna  so  early  aa 
this,  were  said  de  die  ccenare  —  to  begin  dining  from  high  day. 
That  line  in  Horace  —  *  Ut  jugulent  homines,  surgunt  de  node 
latrones '  —  does  not  mean  that  the  robbers  rise  when  others 
are  going  to  bed,  viz.,  at  nightfall,  but  at  midnight.  For,  says 
one  of  the  three  best  scholars  of  this  earth,  de  die,  de  node, 
mean  from  that  hour  which  was  most  fully,  most  intensely  day 
or  night,  viz.,  the  centre,  the  meridian.  This  one  fact  is  surely 
ft  clincher  &b  to  the  question  whether  cana  meant  dinner  or 
tpper. 


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